


here to kingdom come

by alinaandalion



Series: here to kingdom come [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Leverage
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Crossover, Drama, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinaandalion/pseuds/alinaandalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a Victor, Sophie Devereaux has spent the last fifteen years of her life trying not to feel. But rumors bring news of rebellion, hope for a better future. A second chance.</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/499677">Spectacular cover art done by Mizzy.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. like tears from on high

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/gifts).



> **Part One: such have I never seen**
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> _“Old are the shores;_  
>  _But where are old men?_  
>  _I who have seen much,_  
>  _Such have I never seen.”_  
>  _\- “Earth-song” by Ralph Waldo Emerson_
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> _“Maybe it’s about who can do what to whom and can be forgiven for it. Never tell me it amounts to the same thing.”_  
>  _\- The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood_
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> _“I don’t deserve consolation. I want to suffer whatever pain might come. It’s my penance, my restitution, and, if possible, my absolution; how else will I clean the bloodstains from my hands?”_  
>  _\- Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card_

** like tears from on high **

_“Only love can bring the rain_

_That makes you yearn to the sky_

_Only love can bring the rain_

_That falls like tears from on high”_

**_\- “Love Reign O’er Me” by The Who_ **

 

Sophie holds her fluttering skirt out of the way as the waves wash over her feet.  The sun is just appearing over the horizon, its golden rays reflecting off the gently cresting waves, and she flicks some loose hair out of her face.  Wiggling her toes in the wet sand, she contemplates the wisdom of going barefoot to the Reaping ceremonies; of course, then her stylist will be highly disappointed. 

 

She asked for sensible shoes, and he sent delicate silver sandals that lace up her calves.  She supposes they probably count as sensible by Capitol standards, and she’s just grateful that the sandals don’t have heels like most of the shoes in her closet.

 

The people of District Four already think of her as more of a Capitol citizen than one of them.  There’s no reason to encourage that idea if she can help it.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

 

Finnick’s arms around her waist startle her at first, but she relaxes back into his warmth, his head resting just on top of hers.  It’s almost too familiar, like they’re lovers, but their circumstances allow for a less than usual relationship.  She was his mentor when he was sent to the arena, and though she has watched over many different tributes in years past, Finnick is the only one who has survived.  It’s bound them together for life, and she knows that there is no one else who understands her in the same way, who can know what to say at any moment to make her smile or drive away the demons that still haunt her, and she can do the same with him. 

 

“Well, you know how exciting Reaping Day is.”

 

He doesn’t miss the sarcasm laced through every word, and he pokes her in the side.  “This the dress you’re wearing?”

 

She places her hands over his.  “It was sent from the Capitol especially for today.  Appearances are everything after all.”

 

“Well, it’s beautiful.”  He presses his lips to her head and murmurs, “You’re beautiful.”

 

It is a beautiful dress, a light sea green foam laced with an intricate pattern of silver thread that catches the light.  It has an open back with the soft material flowing down her front and gathering loosely about her slender waist; the skirt stops in waves of fabric just above her knees.

 

It’s only one in a long line of dresses she’s received from the Capitol for Reaping Day that are shoved in a closet afterward to never be worn again.

 

“Do you think there will be any volunteers today?” she asks quietly as the water laps higher against her ankles.

 

“Probably not.  There haven’t been any in years.”

 

Even though she can’t see his face, she knows he’s frowning, can feel it in her bones, the way her mouth twists with an answering bitterness.  She indulges the impulse because later will be filled with false smiles and joy at the prospect of dragging two children off to the Capitol to be slaughtered.

 

“Maybe there won’t be any young ones this year.”

 

“They’re all young, Soph.  Too young.  Just like we were.”

 

“It’s easier when they’re at least fifteen.”

 

She hates the hard, calculating sound of her thoughts, but there are some secrets they don’t keep from each other; from the feel of Finnick’s arms tightening around her, he doesn’t like what she’s saying, either.  But he won’t say anything about it because part of him knows better and part of him agrees.

 

“Maybe we’ll bring one of them home this year.”

 

“One of them,” Sophie echoes bitterly.  “Only one.”

 

He sighs.  “That’s the way it is.”

 

She just pushes his arms away and starts walking up the beach to their row of houses, her skirt tangling up in her legs until she lifts the damned dress so high up her thighs that she’s sure Finnick is getting an eyeful behind her.

 

“Annie will be up by now,” she calls over her shoulder.  “She’ll want you with her today before we have to leave.”

 

He catches up with her, grabs her by the elbow, and kisses her cheek.

 

“Just try to make it through today,” he tells her with a slight smile.

 

She watches him go, unable to help admiring the easy roll of his gait.  Pushing her hair back out of her face, she trudges her own way to her house, a breeze whispering against her back as she steps inside.

 

***************

 

_When Sophie sat down across from Finnick, he stiffened in apprehension.  She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the couch and watched the fear creep into his eyes.  She thought to start speaking, but the words stuck in her throat, clawing and swelling with their horror._

_“As a victor, there are certain duties that are expected of you.  The ones you know about are acting as a mentor during the Games and as an example in your district.”  She stopped and took a deep breath.  “The other is to offer your body to the use of Capitol citizens for a price.”_

_Her voice cracked and she fell into silence.  He stared at her for a long while before licking his lips and leaning forward; she saw the faint trembles in his hands._

_“Like a whore?”_

_It felt like he had slapped her, thrown those words in her face like they had been so often before.  She nodded her head, though, because it was true._

_“Why are you telling me this now?”_

_She felt a wave of nausea wash over her and shame clenched deep in her stomach._

_“Tomorrow night, President Snow has arranged for your first appointment with Larson Smith.”_

_She passed him a thick card with beautiful flowing words printed upon it.  She had her own stack in her bedroom and it was hard to remember now how she felt when she received her first one.  They all looked basically the same after all, and memory had a way of blurring over the more unpleasant parts of the past._

_“He waited until you were sixteen so that he couldn’t be accused of selling a child.”_

_She babbled on, not even sure what she was saying because she had somehow lost control of her mouth.  She ended up explaining about the other victors and how some “clients” could be kind, and the whole time, all she could really hear was the roar of the ocean in her ears and the thunder of anger and sadness in her veins._

_“What if I refuse?”_

_She couldn’t even look at him when she gave him the answer.  “They’ll kill your family.  As long as you cooperate, they will remain safe.”_

_He nodded like he understood, as if any of this made some sort of sense.  His body tensed and relaxed, his legs shuffling like he was thinking of breaking into a run.  She felt tears pricking at her eyes and forced them back.  She would offer anything, had offered anything, to keep him from this._

_“Will it hurt?”  His voice came out like a whimper, and it hit her in a rush that he was still so young._

_She moved without thinking to his side, her hands smoothing over his curls, her lips whispering past his ear.  He crumpled then, crying and shaking, and she just held him.  Her arms wrapped around him with familiarity, her fingers sliding under his shirt and pressing hard into his skin.  He was her friend, her equal now, and that meant she couldn’t lie to keep him from being afraid._

_“It will hurt,” she murmured.  “But you are not the only one.”_

_“Does that make things easier?”_

_She cupped her hand against his cheek.  “I don’t know.  But, it’s something.”_

_As he wiped his tears away, he glanced at her, and she felt warmth steal into her cheeks.  She had been aware of his crush on her when he first came to the Capitol as a tribute, but she had made their boundaries clear.  Now, though, he was looking at her like something fundamental had shifted in his world._

_He kissed her, and she followed her first reaction to pull away.  He just moved closer and pressed his mouth to hers.  His lips fumbled, hesitant in their boldness, and she closed her eyes to consider her options.  He remained persistent, and something inside her snapped.  She opened up to him, taking hungry control, slanting her lips over his, slipping her tongue into his mouth and swallowing his surprised moan._

_He molded himself to her, following her lead, and she imagined that she could taste his lingering innocence with the press of her tongue against the roof of his mouth.  She pulled out his grasp abruptly and waited for him to open his eyes._

_“What do you want?”_

_Her voice was pitched low because she needed her intentions to be made clear.  She was willing to give if he wished to take._

_“I want you.”  His voice broke, and his hand fell to her thigh, slipping along the heated skin her dress exposed.  “I want my first time with someone to be my choice.”_

_A sad smile played with her lips as she leaned back into him._

 

***************

 

Sophie throws her sandals into the far corner of her compartment as soon as she steps through the door.  Her skin is still sticky with sweat, so she strips off her dress, not even caring that it rips; she drops it to the floor and heads to the bathroom, pulling the heavy silver comb out of her hair, curls spilling down her back.

 

As she turns on the water and steps into the shower, she hears someone moving around in her room.  She shrugs and presses a button to adjust the water’s temperature to near scalding.

 

“Hey.”  Tara peers around the edge of the shower door and smiles.

 

Sophie smiles back.  “Hi.”

 

“Don’t forget to come to supper.”

 

“I won’t forget if you’re here to remind me.”

 

Tara raises an eyebrow.  “Are you sure you want me around right now?”

 

Sophie shakes her hair out of her face and moves back under the spray.  “I haven’t seen you for months, darling.  Come on.”

 

Tara bites her bottom lip and starts pulling off her dark blue shimmering dress; she steps into the shower and wraps her arms around Sophie’s waist, kissing her softly.

 

“I missed you, too,” Tara murmurs, pressing her mouth to Sophie’s neck.  “Maybe this year’s Games won’t be as bad as the last two.”

 

“I don’t want to talk right now.”  Sophie turns her head and captures Tara’s lips with her own.

 

Tara moans a little and pushes her back against the wall, her hands slipping along Sophie’s body, fingers dancing over slick skin.  Sophie closes her eyes and tries not to think about where this train is headed, the envelopes she found on her bedside table, the two frightened children who will more than likely die in that arena. 

 

She just needs her mind to stop, so she slips her fingers between Tara’s legs and lets it all go.

 

***************

 

The silence is almost deafening, and Finnick fidgets beside Sophie, drumming his fingers across his thigh and then hers.  She barely notices, more concerned with what they have just seen.

 

Everything has gone as expected so far.  Except for that volunteer from District Twelve.  Familial love doesn’t normally run that deep when it comes down to the almost certainty of death in the arena.  Besides, the action is so unusual that it can upset everything, pull sponsors from other tributes, their tributes, because the sponsors are nothing if not gamblers at heart who won’t mind throwing away large sums of money to see if this girl has what it takes to win.

 

“Should we be concerned yet?” Tara finally says.

 

“I don’t know.”  Sophie slaps Finnick’s hand away from her leg and shakes her head.  “It could just be that she’s protecting her sister.  What sort of skills could she have anyway?”

 

“Something she learned illegally.”  When Sophie glares at him, he shrugs.  “The Capitol kind of ignores District Twelve.  It’s possible.”

 

“Well, even if she gets the highest score after training, we still have a group of sponsors who always choose to back District Four.  Our kids won’t be left out in the cold.”

 

“Tributes,” Tara corrects lightly.

 

Sophie narrows her eyes and frowns, and she settles a little more into the couch; Finnick looks from her to Tara.  It’s almost like the two women are feeling each other out through glances and a sideways conversation, and it’s something so common now that he can pretty much ignore it as he chooses.

 

He doesn’t play these games very well, after all.  He’s not a stranger to subtlety but he’s never been able to manipulate it to his own will.

 

“Regardless, we still have the Careers to worry about,” Finnick puts in.  “It’s the same every year.  They almost always win because they know what they’re doing and have been prepared for this.  Ours, on the other hand…”

 

“Know how to tie knots and fish,” Sophie finishes with a wry smile.  “Which, while beneficial, will only keep them alive for so long.”

 

When she stops talking, the silence comes back, and Finnick returns to his impatient drumming along Sophie’s leg.  Sophie lets it pass; he doesn’t do well with quiet and stillness when he’s without Annie.  It’s as if he’s afraid that if he’s not in perpetual motion, the earth might fling him off its surface.  Tara watches him while he fidgets, her eyes narrowed just a little at how close Sophie is to him. 

 

Tara doesn’t like anyone else to touch Sophie.  Sophie knows this, and she doesn’t care.

 

“One of their mothers came up to me after the Reaping.”  Sophie keeps her voice quiet but it seems to echo back to her.  She can feel their eyes on her, but she can’t look at them. “She asked me to make sure her child comes back home.  Alive.  And I wanted to tell her that if I chose one over the other, I would be killing one of them.”

 

“It’s understandable,” he murmurs.  “No mother wants to bury her child.”

 

“Our worlds are so narrow when we’re in pain, when someone we love is in pain.”  A bubble of pain wells up in Sophie’s chest and she pushes it back down because there are some things they never talk about.  “We would sacrifice anything.  Anyone.”

 

“Is it such a bad thing to care so much for someone?”  Finnick flattens his hand on Sophie’s leg and squeezes, reminding her that they’re never truly alone.  Everything they say makes it back to the Capitol eventually.

 

“At the price of an innocent person’s life?”  Sophie shakes her head.  “What right do you have to make that kind of choice?”

 

“None,” he replies softly.

 

Her eyes are damp when she looks at him.  “We’re all damned.”

 

“It will be a busy day tomorrow.”  Tara’s voice cracks, and she clears her throat.  “We should all try to get some rest.”

 

Sophie kisses the side of his head and whispers, “Good night, Finnick.”

 

She slips out from under his grasp, and he smiles up at her.  “Good night, Sophie.  Tara.”

 

Sophie lets Tara take her hand and lead her away.  The walls press in around her, and Sophie breaks free from Tara’s grasp, panting for breath.  Tara just sighs and keeps walking to her compartment. 

 

Sophie clenches her hand into a fist and makes her way along the length of the train until she reaches the end where she can step onto the back and let the cool air wash over her.  The train barrels along the tracks as the stars flicker past in little flashes of light.

 

***************

 

Sophie sinks onto the bed in her compartment and sighs as she looks around.  Everything is the same as the previous year, the same as it has always been.  She wonders sometimes if her father slept in this same compartment when he traveled to the Capitol each year for the Games. 

 

It’s a morbid belief, but she feels tied to him this way, like she is following in his footsteps as a victor, a mentor, and as a whore.  It’s painful to know that if he could see her, he wouldn’t be proud. 

 

Tara slips onto the bed behind her.  “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

 

Sophie pulls Tara’s arms around her waist and nods.  This isn’t a night she wants to be alone. 

 

_The morning was quiet when Sophie woke up.  She stayed in bed, eyes closed, listening.  Her daddy was home, and that normally meant she could hear her mama singing while she cooked breakfast and Daddy helped her._

_But, she couldn’t hear anything that day.  Sophie opened her eyes and frowned when she saw Mags sitting beside her bed._

_“What’s going on?”  Sophie untangled herself from the sheets and sat with her legs crossed._

_Mags looked sad, but she smiled.  “Your mother is busy right now.  She asked me to sit with you.”_

_“But, Daddy’s here.”  Sophie shook her head.  “What is he doing?”_

_Mags opened her mouth as if to reply but she shut it again without making a sound.  Sophie sighed; she hated being ten years old a lot of the time.  She wanted to be an adult and be allowed to share in the secrets that people always started talking about around her before stopping themselves._

_The house was too quiet.  It didn’t feel alive like it always had before, filled with murmurs and sighs from the wooden walls, the gentle tread of her mother’s footsteps, her father’s heavier gait.  A shiver went up her spine, and she swallowed back the choking feeling that blocked her throat._

_“Come here, child,” Mags said softly, opening her arms._

_Sophie crawled across the bed and settled in Mags’ lap; the room was warm from the summer sun, and she blinked drowsily against the light and the heat.  Mags smelled like the lavender water she bathed in, the dirt from her vegetable garden, and the lemon flavored water she preferred to drink._

_She really wanted to be curled up with her daddy, her nose pressed to his shoulder so she could smell the peppermints he always sucked on and the soap from his freshly washed clothes._

_Marcus Starke poked his head inside the room and waved to get Mags’ attention.  “Hey, they want you to come downstairs.”_

_“What about me?” Sophie asked, clinging harder to Mags._

_Marcus frowned.  “I don’t think…”_

_“Come on, child,” Mags said calmly, ignoring Marcus._

_Sophie grabbed onto Mags’ hand as they left the room, and they took the stairs at a much slower pace than she would have preferred but she stayed behind Mags.  It felt like something horrible was waiting down there, and she wanted to run back to her room and hide under the covers until her daddy came to tickle her and laugh with his big voice._

_Her mama was sitting at the kitchen table.  The shades were still pulled down over the windows, and nothing was on the stove.  Daddy’s boots were missing from beside the door; Sophie wandered up to the table and put her hand on her mama’s arm._

_“Did Daddy have to leave again?”  She tried to act like a grown up, make it only a question even though the idea of him leaving without saying goodbye to her made her want to cry._

_Her mama turned to her and sighed.  Sophie shrank away from her mama’s pale face and her red eyes._

_“He’s dead, sweetheart.”  Her mama’s voice was flat, listless, and she held a hand out to Sophie like she would pull the girl up into her arms._

_Sophie nodded her head like she believed the words, and she sat down in her mama’s lap and wrapped her arms around her mama’s neck._

_Right now, this was a bad dream, and when she woke up, her daddy would be sitting beside her bed with a smile.  She felt her mama’s tears soak the back of her dress, but she could only stare at the wall in front of her._

 

***************

It’s still early morning when they pass the outer edges of the Capitol.  The sun reflects back off the sides of buildings, but the tinted windows of the train’s cars keep it from bothering their eyes. 

 

Sophie wraps her arms across her waist, pulling the loose white dress she threw on earlier closer against her body.  Finnick comes up to stand beside her, and they watch the landscape pass by, the train slowing as it trundles closer to the heart of the city.

 

“I dreamt about him last night,” Sophie says quietly, not even turning her head to look at Finnick.

 

“Are you all right now?” 

 

She smiles a little at his response, the bitterness mixed with relief.  They’ve done this often enough that he doesn’t need to ask for details anymore, and she wishes this could be different. 

 

She weighs the words carefully in her mind before saying, “Yes.  It’s gotten easier now.”

 

“Because you’re not sleeping alone?”  He’s looking at her, she can feel it even as she keeps her eyes trained on the smooth concrete and steel slipping past the train.

 

“No.”  She keeps her voice even, doesn’t allow even a twitch of her lips.

 

He sighs and spreads his palm against her back; the warmth sears through the thin material of her dress, and she lets a long breath escape her mouth.  This is what she needs right now.  The quiet, the familiar understanding from having seen the same horrors and survived.

 

There are nights when Tara can wrap her arms so tight around her, and Sophie just feels alone.  A touch from Finnick on the small of her back is enough to keep her rooted, make her feel safe.

 

“Do you want to know what I was thinking about the first time I saw the Capitol?” 

 

Finnick’s voice pulls her back to the moment, and she shakes her head.  “What?”

 

“I had never seen anything like it.  It was so big.  Not like the ocean is big.  Men made this place.  It was so beautiful, so much…more that I forgot what I was coming here to do.”  He speaks in a gentle murmur, the cadences of his voice pulling at her. 

 

She can remember that morning as well, standing beside a wide-eyed fourteen-year-old boy who occasionally snuck shy glances at her; he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen, with a mop of dark curls, hazel eyes.  Perfect features, full lips, a mischievous smile that only the innocent truly possess. 

 

“Do you feel the same way now?”  She asks the question already knowing the answer, but the train is slowing even more and this story, like all others, needs to have an ending.

 

His face is almost unreadable.  Not for her, though, and she lets her eyes travel to the hard lines around his mouth, the softness that lingers in his eyes.  She knows him too well and it’s too late for either of them to pretend otherwise.

 

“No, I don’t,” he finally replies.

 

The train has almost stopped.

 

“Do you want to know what I thought about that morning?”

 

His fingers press a little harder into her back.  “What was that?”

 

She meets his gaze.  “That you were the most beautiful child I had ever seen.  And that they would all eat you alive if they could.”

 

When the doors open on the train and the cheers of the crowd gathered outside reach their ears, his hand slips away from her, and her heart aches a little at the loss.


	2. run fast as you can

  
** run fast as you can **   
_“Run fast as you can_   
_No one has to understand_   
_Fly high across the sky_   
_From here to kingdom come_   
_Fall back down to where you’re from.”_   
**_\- “Kingdom Come” by The Civil Wars_ **   


  
“Our two tributes look strong this year.”  Imanuel Evander gives her a wide smile.  “And attractive.”  
  
Sophie smiles faintly in return and takes a sip of her cool apple cider.  “I assume you have spectacular clothes ready for them.”  
  
He shrugs.  “It’s my job.  I have new clothes for you, of course.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
She watches condensation gather on her glass and slip into a jagged line to the table; even in the Capitol the heat is oppressive.  She takes another sip.  Apple cider was her favorite thing to drink at one time.  It tastes like summer, and it reminds her of her father.  He used to bring it home to them after he went to the Capitol.  
  
It’s something she only indulges in while in the Capitol.  It’s better than drinking herself into a stupor; it’s pain edged with bitterness, and honestly, it’s just as intoxicating as any liquor.  Addiction is easy to find and hard to lose.  
  
Bile crawls up her throat at the memory of her father, and she forces it back down with a hard swallow.  This is why she hates all the time between the Reaping and the Games.  It’s too easy to slip back into memories, a morbid habit she has yet to break.  
  
“You’ve lost weight.”  
  
She looks up at Imanuel, startled.  “What?”  
  
“You’re getting too thin.”  He stands and moves to the other side of the room where he has a large pile of fabric and various accessories.  “I used your measurements from last year for that dress and it’s too loose for you.  You know, we value slenderness, but you’re going to look like a skeleton soon.”  
  
He brandishes a wide gold belt heavy with rubies.  She eyes it warily; she’s never trusted him when he starts trying to fix parts of her.  
  
Like when he thought she was in love with Finnick, and he tried to chase off Tara because he thought Tara was interfering in what could be a very happy love affair.  Or when he brought the Bliss drug to her and convinced her to take it because it would help her forget her pain.  She spent two days in a medical center since he had given her a much larger dose than her body could handle.  
  
“What is that for?”  
  
He pulls her out of her chair and loops the belt about her waist, cinching in the loose fabric of her dress.  The gold sits heavy against the dress.  It feels like a chain, and she desperately wants to shed the added weight.  
  
“My clothes are my art, and art is all about presentation.  Therefore, the clothes need to fit properly so everyone can see my brilliance and admire it.”  He punctuates his statement with an emphatic gesture of his hands that clips her shoulder.  
  
She rolls her eyes.  “Fine.”  
  
He steps back and looks her straight in the eye.  “I know you think of me as a frivolous man, but the right piece of clothing for those tributes can mean the difference between life and death in the arena.  It’s my _job_ to give them the best opportunity for survival that I can.”  
  
“So why is it so important that I am dressed to perfection?”  
  
She snatches up her glass and takes a long swallow, wishing she had some sort of alcohol to make the room feel lighter.  She hates summer.  
  
“Because people still look at you, darling, and they measure your worth according to appearance.”  He shakes his head and a sly smile creeps onto his face.  “Or maybe I’m just a fool who loves sewing a few dresses.”  
  
The pointed remark hits her square in the chest, and she drops her eyes, a little ashamed of her behavior.  Imanuel is her friend, and she doesn’t have enough of those to be callous to the ones she has.  
  
“You know everything you design is exquisite,” she says quietly.  “I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”  
  
He gives her a sharp look, all of his easy good humor disappearing.  “You don’t.  It’s just important for you to understand.”  
  
Sophie nods her head, keeps her voice light.  “Of course.  I…forget, sometimes.  Things like that just aren’t very important in District Four.”  
  
His mouth tightens, and he looks like he’s about to say something else when his prep team tumbles through the door.  They bring laughter and sunshine with them as they pour out compliments for the girl tribute this year, pretty Lydia who is so charming and brave.  Sophie’s unease slips away as they surround her and Imanuel leaves.  
  
There are three of them, one girl and two young men.  Aria is willowy and short, like a pixie, and her doe-like eyes are always shining with joy.  She has an obsession with Sophie’s hair and is always attempting to put feathers in it; Sophie has managed to avoid that particular oddity so far.  Aria isn’t like most Capitol citizens with wild hair colors and features altered by surgeries; her whims come and go too much for her to undergo a permanent change in her body.  Instead, she wears flamboyant clothes that include an overabundance of accessories, and her make-up is generally just as flashy to match.  
  
Benjy is the older of the two men, and he’s only in his mid-twenties.  He moves like a cat, smooth muscles and slender body vibrating with energy.  His black hair is always perfectly styled in a way that makes it look like he slept on top of his head, and black curly lines are tattooed continuously all over his body, emphasizing every movement.  He acts as the anchor to Aria’s flighty emotions.  
  
Tally is the last of the group.  He is fascinated with the idea of the phoenix, an animal that dies in flames and is born out of ashes.  Unfortunately, this has manifested itself in brilliant red-orange hair that only emphasizes the paleness of his skin and his unsettling black eyes.  He looks constantly in transition between death and re-birth; the effect ends up as both frightening and enthralling.  
  
They brandish their various kits, and their hands pat over Sophie’s skin and clothes without an ounce of apology.  Their words fall across her; it feels like being out in the middle of the ocean.  There’s a soft roar about their conversation that lingers in her ears, but it’s not like the crash of the waves against the shore or the cacophony of the crowd’s cheers outside.  
  
It’s a comforting sound, a lullaby almost, and she revels in it.  Unlike Imanuel, there is no depth to any of them; or, at least, she hasn’t found any.  These three are foolish and vain, easily excited over the smallest things, and it is like being in the care of small children except that the results will be much better.  This absence of expectations, the selfishness, it allows her to stop thinking and just stay there with only small thoughts about which color lipstick is best to go with her new outfit.  
  
It’s a different sort of freedom, one without cost, and she adores them for allowing her that luxury even if it doesn’t last.  
  
Today, they’re discussing the upcoming Games, so she allows her mind to float a little while they smooth out her skin.  They jabber about the new tributes and how spectacular they will look that night.  It’s the same talk every year, and she knows they believe in it, too, even if most of what they say are phrases recycled over and over again until she can almost parrot it all back to them.  
  
It would hurt their feelings, though, so she manages to rein in that impulse.  They wax the stubble from her legs that she’s let go for the past couple of days, and she doesn’t even wince, the pain more of a ghostly memory than fact.  She’s been doing this for the past fifteen years of her life; the time didn’t feel that fast when it was passing by, but she can feel the weight of the years in her bones.  
  
She is old before her time.  Mags has been telling her that for years, and the thought brings a small smile to her face.  
  
“It was so heartbreaking to see that girl volunteer for her sister.”  Aria rubs lotion into Sophie’s arms, her fingers moving in a soothing circular pattern.  
  
Benjy shakes his head from where he’s working lotion all over Sophie’s thighs.  “Oh, I know.  And she’s from District Twelve, too.”  
  
“She doesn’t look as scrawny like the tributes from there normally do.”  Tally frowns and starts brushing out Sophie’s hair.  “And District Twelve has new stylists this year.”  
  
“I heard Cinna requested District Twelve,” Aria whispers, her eyes shining with the gossip.  “He said something about how no one had explored the potential there yet.”  
  
“Potential?” Tally scoffed.  “No one has explored it because it isn’t there.”  
  
“Still, you never know when someone might surprise you,” Benjy says quietly.  
  
Aria tosses her hair, and the five large necklaces draped about her neck jangle loudly.  “I think he’s just trying to pretend like he wasn’t put with District Twelve because he’s the newest stylist.”  
  
“Well, I saw some of the sketches he submitted.”  Benjy moves behind Sophie to help Tally curl and braid small sections of her hair.  “They were spectacular.”  
  
Tara comes in with a smile on her face.  “I was sent to check up on everything.”  
  
“We’re almost finished.”  Aria joins the two men behind Sophie, helping to pin the braids in place.  
  
Benjy moves around to the front and clasps his hands to his chest.  “Oh, you look beautiful, darling.”  
  
Sophie preens for them, completely unselfconscious about her naked body, winking in Tara’s direction.  Sophie doesn’t miss the flash of lust in Tara’s eyes and smiles in satisfaction as Imanuel walks in bearing a dress over his arms.  
  
“All right, all right, we’re not done yet.”  He’s practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.  
  
He holds the back of the dress open for Sophie, and she steps into it and lets him fasten the hooks in the back.  She gasps at the sensation of the cool softness of the material, and she steps forward to the mirror to admire it.  The light pink complements her bronzed skin; it seems as though she is glowing from the inside out.  
  
“It’s wonderful,” she says as she turns with a wide smile to Imanuel.  
  
Tara grins wickedly.  “Oh, wait until you see Finnick.”  
  
The door opens, and Sophie has to stifle a laugh at Finnick’s disgruntled expression as he steps into the room.  He’s been dressed in a matching pink shirt and tight black pants that leave little to the imagination.  He tugs uselessly at the material around his thighs.  
  
“I can barely even walk in this,” he complains while Aria, Benjy, and Tally coo over how spectacular his outfit is.  
  
Imanuel raises an eyebrow.  “Well, that’s not the point of it, is it?  Besides, _I_ don’t design your clothes.”  
  
“Maybe you should say something to your partner,” Finnick replies through clenched teeth, “before I kill myself to end my misery.”  
  
“Mina doesn’t like my suggestions,” Imanuel says, and Sophie snorts at the obvious lie.  Mina takes a lot of suggestions from Imanuel while designing clothes.  
  
“Am I missing a party?”  
  
Mina’s husky voice interrupts Finnick’s next words, and Sophie quickly pulls Finnick to her side before he can start ranting again.  Tara joins them as Finnick wraps an arm around Sophie’s waist, and Tara follows suit by resting her arm around Sophie’s hips.  Sophie feels a small thrill at their attention and ignores the way Tara and Finnick frown at each other.  
  
She is not going to act as referee over their jealousy.  
  
“Well, I think we should probably go,” Sophie murmurs.  “Imanuel and Mina have to join the tributes anyway, so we don’t have to wait on them.”  
  
Finnick leads the way out of the room, slipping away from Sophie’s side.  Sophie frowns at the urge she has to run after him to catch up.

***************

_Sophie shifted in soft cotton sheets, sunlight warm on her face, keeping her eyes shut as she luxuriated in the heady scents of the flower garden just beyond the window.  She sighed, contented, and felt the bed dip on her right with the addition of another body._   
  
_“Good morning.”  Hands rubbed softly along her arms, fingers pausing to trace the curve of her shoulders._   
  
_She hummed under her breath and opened her eyes, blinking against the light’s intrusion and smiling._   
  
_“Good morning, William,” she murmured as she pulled him down for a languid kiss._   
  
_He nuzzled into her neck, propping himself up on his elbows, his chest a faint pressure over her.  His breath puffed against her skin, hot and a little damp, flavored by the apple cider he drank every morning.  His lips brushed against her neck, right below her ear, while his left fingers danced along her hip, pressing down, feeling the hard line of bone underneath skin._   
  
_“There’s breakfast, if you want it.”  He kissed the side of her head._   
  
_She reached up and tangled her hand in his black hair that was just starting to turn silver at the roots.  “I’d much rather stay right here.”_   
  
_Grinning, he kissed her, nipping at her bottom lip, and she sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.  His hand wandered along her collarbone and dipped lower, cupping her breast in his palm, his thumb brushing her nipple.  She moaned softly, arching into his hand, and he moved his mouth to her neck, sucking lightly at her skin._   
  
_“So, you aren’t nervous about meeting my mother?” he asked, and she could feel his smile against her throat._   
  
_She wrapped a leg lazily around his calf, running her nails down his back, relishing his shiver, the tightening of his muscles._   
  
_“I still don’t understand why this is so important to you.”_   
  
_He moved away, hovering over her again, his green eyes serious.  “Because I want to marry you, Sophie.”_   
  
_The breath caught in her throat, and she gave him a small smile.  “Can you?”_   
  
_“Yes.”  He brushed his lips against hers.  “If you want me, we can get married.”_   
  
_She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, and nodded her head.  “I want to, William.”_   
  
_His face lit up, and he kissed her again, his hands wrapping around her waist, his tongue sliding into her mouth; she tightened her fingers reflexively against his shoulder, sighing with pleasure._   
  
_She moved her mouth along his jaw, murmuring, “How much longer do we have until your mother gets here?”_   
  
_He craned his neck to look at the clock beside the bed, and she took the opportunity to nip at his neck._   
  
_“One hour.”_   
  
_He leaned back in for a kiss, and she pushed him back._   
  
_“An hour?  You let me sleep too long.”  She groaned and slid out from under him._   
  
_He rolled onto his back.  “We have plenty of time.”_   
  
_“I have to take a shower, William.”  She grabbed up his bathrobe and wrapped it around her body._   
  
_“I do, too.”_   
  
_She smirked and raised an eyebrow.  “Well, then, come with me.”_   
  
_Fifty-five minutes later, Sophie fixed the collar of William’s shirt, pressing a kiss to his cheek and linking her arm through his._   
  
_“You look quite handsome,” she said with a smile._   
  
_He rubbed his thumb gently along her jaw and said, “And you are incredibly beautiful.”_   
  
_She blushed; the minutes ticked by, and she started to fidget, shifting her weight from one foot to another.  William covered her hand with his and squeezed as a knock sounded from the other side of the door._   
  
_“Don’t be nervous,” he murmured, kissing the side of her head as he walked to the door._   
  
_He opened it, revealing a petite elderly woman with perfectly coiffed grey hair.  He pulled the woman inside and kissed both her cheeks._   
  
_“Hello, Mother,” he said quietly._   
  
_She nodded her head stiffly.  “It’s good to see you, William.  Now, where is this young woman you keep telling me about?”_   
  
_William led his mother over to stand in front of Sophie.  “Mother, I would like you to meet Sophie Devereaux.  Sophie, this is my mother, Emily Beaumont.”_   
  
_Sophie smiled nervously and extended her hand.  “It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Beaumont.”_   
  
_Mrs. Beaumont ignored the proffered handshake and sniffed.  “And you’re from District Four.”_   
  
_Sophie didn’t miss the disdain in the older woman’s voice or the snub.  William frowned from behind his mother and sidled around her to wrap an arm around Sophie’s waist._   
  
_“Sophie has laid out a marvelous lunch on the balcony,” he said nervously, running a hand through his hair._   
  
_“That sounds lovely, William,” Mrs. Beaumont replied, but she didn’t smile._   
  
_William offered his arm to his mother and walked slowly out to the balcony, chatting with her about the petunias he was growing; apparently, they were his mother’s favorite flowers, and Sophie now regretted that she had chosen lilies as the centerpiece for the table.  She sighed and followed after them, pulling self-consciously at her dress._   
  
_By the time she made it to the balcony, William already had his mother seated in the shade, and he pulled out a chair for Sophie.  She sat down and smiled graciously at Mrs. Beaumont, feeling her cheek muscles pull with the effort when Mrs. Beaumont simply looked back with cool indifference._   
  
_“William, dear, you look a little warm in that shirt,” Mrs. Beaumont said before Sophie could offer anyone some food.  “Why don’t you go change into something cooler?  We’ll wait here for you.”_   
  
_William nodded.  “All right.  Try to behave while I’m gone.”_   
  
_He brushed his lips against Sophie’s cheek and walked back into the apartment.  Sophie ducked her head and tapped a fingernail against her fork._   
  
_“I care very much for my son.”_   
  
_Sophie looked up at Mrs. Beaumont, confused.  “I’m sorry?”_   
  
_Mrs. Beaumont continued like she hadn’t heard Sophie.  “And I want for him to be happy.  So, I must ask, do you love him?”_   
  
_“Yes.”  Sophie surprised herself with her quick answer, but she smiled a little.  “I do love him.”_   
  
_“I don’t think you’re lying,” Mrs. Beaumont replied slowly.  “With most other women, I would assume they were after his considerable fortune.  However, with your, shall we say, unique circumstances, I believe you would not be here if you did not care for him.”_   
  
_“I’m glad you feel that way, Mrs. Beaumont,” Sophie murmured._   
  
_Mrs. Beaumont broke into a sly grin and said, “I think we shall be great friends, my dear.  And, you may call me Aunty.”_

***************

Sophie stumbles as she gets off the elevator.  She catches herself before she hits the ground.  She takes a few steps and loses her balance again, crashing into a table.  
  
Something breaks in the dark, and she tries to move away so she doesn’t cut herself.  The world tilts and she goes with it, her head pounding.  She sits there and tries to breathe through the sensation but her blood is thrumming too hard in her veins, sparking and urging her on to mischief.  
  
“Shit.”  She picks something up off the floor and throws it.  “Shit, shit, shit.”  
  
“Soph, is that you?”  
  
Finnick’s bleary voice sounds from somewhere in the room and then suddenly there is light.  She shields her eyes from the brightness and hisses a little.  Tara appears in the doorway.  
  
“What’s going on?  I heard a lot of noise and…”  Tara’s voice trails off when she sees Sophie sitting in the middle of the floor.  “Oh.  How bad is it this time?”  
  
Finnick slides off the couch and starts to approach Sophie warily.  “Not sure yet.  Soph, did you take anything?”  
  
“Gave me a pill.  Had to swallow it,” Sophie mumbles.  She wants to just curl up and sleep.  The fever under her skin hurts, and it flares to life when Finnick gets closer.  
  
He lays a hand on her arm; she shivers at the rush of arousal, and he backs off.  She bites her lip and whimpers because the desire ruling her is painful to the point of agony.  
  
“Yeah, they gave her Ecstasy.  At least it was only one dose this time around.  I’ve seen her like this plenty of times.  She’ll be fine in the morning.”  Finnick rocks back on his heels and glances back at Tara.  “I’m going to need your help to get her up.”  
  
“You’re not strong enough to pick her up on your own?” Tara replies, a slight smile tugging on her lips.  
  
“It’s the arousal the drug creates.  I put her that close to my body, and she’ll probably have half my clothes off before I can do anything to stop her.  With the two of us, maybe we’ll be able to keep her hands from wandering too much.”  
  
Sophie lets her head loll from side to side, watching Finnick and Tara through barely open eyes.  Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she digs her nails into the palm of her hands.  She opens a clenched fist; blood wells up from four half-moon marks.  
  
Finnick pulls her up and drapes one of her arms over his shoulder.  Tara follows his example, and Sophie hangs between them, her head falling forward as she tries to force back a moan.  She squirms as they carry her away.  She wants to touch them, taste their skin, but she can’t get free.  
  
She is lifted up and laid on something soft.  She blinks.  It’s a bed.  Now that she’s free, she grabs someone’s hand and shoves it between her legs, shifting and groaning when fingers brush against her clit.  She arches her back and thrusts back impatiently against the fingers; she opens her eyes and sees Finnick hovering over her, his mouth set in a firm line.  
  
“Please, Finnick,” she whines as she grabs fistfuls of the sheets.  
  
His face softens, and he leans in, kisses her as his hand starts working between her legs, tracing familiar patterns over her skin, teasing and frustrating.  She pulls him closer and doesn’t even notice that Tara leaves the room.

***************

_Sophie wandered slowly through the elegant ballroom, still a little unsteady on her heeled shoes.  People whirled by in flashes of color, the dissonance of music and conversations nearly deafening.  Someone stepped on her skirt from behind, and Sophie jumped, her body already moving into a defensive crouch before she remembered where she was._   
  
_The 59 th Hunger Games had ended five months ago, and she was the victor.  It was over.  She was safe.  _   
  
_The poor man who had stumbled against her held his hands up in front of him in a feeble attempt at protection.  She could tell from his glassy eyes that he had been drinking steadily from the punch bowl, and she straightened up, giving him a brief nod as she walked away._   
  
_She drained the rest of her drink and placed the long-stemmed glass on a mostly empty table.  No one sat at the tables; instead, there were hundreds of tables loaded down with food and drink with smaller tables scattered along the fringes of the ballroom for dishes when the guests were either finished eating or bored with it.  That had been her third glass of the punch, and the alcohol was going to her head, making it feel light and warm, her limbs liquid, heavy._   
  
_The dancing in the middle of the floor was something fast and furious, drums pounding out a loud beat that echoed in her ears.  Through the throng of dancers, she caught sight of President Snow talking to a group of older men, and when Snow glanced in her direction, fear gripped her stomach, nausea overwhelming all over her senses._   
  
_Sophie stumbled her way into a dim corner and gulped down breaths of air.  The warmth she had just found so pleasant was quickly turning into a stifling heat that threatened to suffocate her.  Her fingers scrabbled against the wall, looking for something to grasp because her knees were starting to buckles underneath her._   
  
_“Hey, are you all right?”_   
  
_The sudden male voice beside her startled her, and Sophie stiffened and slowly looked to her right.  He looked friendly enough with unruly curls and wide blue eyes; but she had learned that first impressions didn’t necessarily mean anything._   
  
_She drew away from him.  “Who are you?”_   
  
_He broke out into a grin and laughed.  “Nathan Ford.  I’m a victor from District Five.  And you are Sophie Devereaux, the victor of the 59 th Hunger Games.”_   
  
_“I remember your Games,” Sophie said slowly, fragments of memory flashing through her mind.  “Seven years ago.”_   
  
_“That would be correct.”  Nathan winked at her.  “Now, why are you hiding in a corner at a party that’s in your honor?”_   
  
_She flinched at the mention of the party and shot back, “Why are you bothering me instead of dancing with your wife?”_   
  
_“Oh, you’re a quick study.”  He didn’t seem fazed by her rudeness and simply smiled._   
  
_“It’s not hard to see your wedding band.”_   
  
_“Only if you’re looking for it.”_   
  
_She blushed at his response, his calm gaze causing her to squirm a little under his scrutiny.  It was as if he knew why she had looked to his left hand for a ring._   
  
_“You still didn’t answer my question,” she finally replied in a quiet voice._   
  
_“She was worried about you, as well.  You looked like you might be sick.”_   
  
_She bowed her head and frowned.  “I apologize, then, Nathan, for my rudeness and for distracting you from the party.”_   
  
_“Nate.  Call me Nate.”  He took her hand and tucked it through the crook of his left arm.  “And there’s nothing to apologize for.”_   
  
_He led her away from the corner, his right hand resting over the fingers she had wrapped around his arm, the warmth of his skin comforting and gentle._   
  
_“If you were wearing a ring, I would have noticed.”_   
  
_She looked up at him sharply, confused by his conversational tone and his pleasant expression.  She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or making fun of her or playing some new game she didn’t know the rules for.  He just curled his palm over her knuckles._   
  
_He stopped by a table overflowing with glasses of varying shapes and sizes, liquid glittering inside them as the light bounced off the surfaces, amber, dark brown, purples, light gold, and diamonds winking back at her.  He lifted a cup of water and handed it to her._   
  
_“Keep your wits about you,” he said quietly, inclining his head toward hers, a smile on his face even as his eyes grew serious.  “I know what’s been happening on your Victory Tour.  It’s nothing new.  But on nights when you don’t have an appointment, don’t drink too much or take any pills offered to you.  That way, no one can take advantage of you.”_   
  
_“They’re already taking advantage of me,” she murmured, taking a sip of water and savoring the coolness as it slid over her tongue and down her throat._   
  
_“True.  But you still need to take control of what you can.”_   
  
_Ahead of them, Sophie could see a slender blonde woman talking to a portly gentleman, skillfully avoiding his eager hands that kept wandering along her body.  Nate cleared his throat, and the woman turned to face them._   
  
_“Ah, Maggie, I would like you to meet Sophie Devereaux.  Sophie, this is my wife, Maggie Ford.”_   
  
_Sophie smiled at Maggie, admiring the other woman’s beauty; Sophie couldn’t quite bring herself to pull away from Nate, but she loosened her grip in case he wished to join with Maggie._   
  
_“A pleasure to meet you, Sophie,” Maggie said with a wide smile, her blue eyes sparkling.  She laid a hand on the portly gentleman’s arm.  “Robert, why don’t you introduce me to your friends?  Then we can talk about that dance you owe me.”_   
  
_Nate watched Maggie leave with Robert, worry creasing his forehead._   
  
_“I’ll be quite all right if you would like to go with them,” Sophie said quickly, slipping her hand from around Nate’s arm.  “Thank you for the advice, though.”_   
  
_He shook his head.  “She’ll distract him with some liquor and come back in a few minutes.”  He held a hand out to her.  “Would you care to dance?”_   
  
_Sophie hesitated.  “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”_   
  
_“Sophie, you’re a victor now.  The first lesson you should learn is that all of us don’t play by normal rules.”  He smiled and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor.  “Besides, I thought you were going to be my friend.”_   
  
_He placed a hand on her waist, and she rested her left hand on his shoulder, letting him take her other hand in his.  The music rose and fell, one-two-three, and he led her into a simple dance, his fingers pressing into the small of her back.  She hadn’t felt this safe in a long time._   
  
_At the end of the night, Nate slipped a small piece of paper into Sophie’s hands._   
  
_She eyed it curiously.  “What’s this?”_   
  
_“My phone number.”  He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.  “If you ever need someone to talk to.”_   
  
_She smiled radiantly and kissed his cheek before she could think better of it.  He smiled, blushing just a little, and she watched him leave, her right hand clasping the paper over her heart._

***************

Her tongue is too thick for her mouth.  That is all Sophie can think about as she follows Finnick into the mentors’ lounge in the Training Center.  Well, that and the throbbing pain in her head that hasn’t dissipated yet.  Everyone else from the other districts is already there, and Sophie pretends like they aren’t all staring at her.  
  
Enobaria glances over her and smiles with her sharpened teeth.  “Rough night?”  
  
Finnick glares at Enobaria.  “Leave her alone.”  
  
He leads Sophie over to the nearest couch and helps her sit down.  Sophie relaxes back into the soft cushions and listens to the soft hum of conversation.  This is the first day of training, and they can’t start talking to sponsors until the afternoon because the sponsors couldn’t be bothered to get up before then.  They stay up all night at parties and need the morning to nurse the pain their pleasures bring.  
  
She doesn’t understand the constant cycle.  Touch a hot stove, get burned, and you never do it again.  It’s as if they’re all stubborn children who truly believe it won’t hurt this time around.  It’s the definition of insanity.  
  
She closes her eyes and pushes the thoughts away.  It’s nothing new and she has better things to focus her attentions on.  Such as the gossip Finnick is currently listening to.  
  
“Rumor is that Haymitch finally has a good tribute with that girl.”  Johanna leans closer than necessary to Finnick, her impish brown eyes sparkling.  “There’s supposed to be something special about her, and sponsors are interested.”  
  
“I heard she’s just a spark that will flicker out.”  Nate’s measured tones hit her, and Sophie forces herself to keep her eyes closed.  
  
She can’t look at him, not yet, not here.  Whenever Nate meets her eyes, it’s too much, overwhelming and terrifying, and those moments never come often or stay for long.  She’s falling apart too much right now to let him see her.  She wants to be whole, unblemished, when he looks to her and smiles.  She _wants_ …something.  
  
Maybe she wants him to love her; maybe she wants to fix him.  But there are some wounds that go too deep, that only fade to a throbbing pain instead of a sharp stab.  And she can’t help him if she’s only in pieces herself.  
  
She wonders if they’ll always be like this:  lost, lonely.  Broken.  
  
“Hey, are you okay?”  Finnick’s voice drifts over her and a cool hand is pressed against her flushed skin.  “I’m going to get a cool cloth for your head.”  
  
Sophie looks up at him, and Finnick smiles at her before sauntering away.  Johanna scampers along with him, and Sophie could kill the both of them for abandoning her with Nate.  
  
“I take it you were in a business meeting last night?” Nate asks, a frown pulling at his mouth as he sits down beside her.  
  
“Of sorts, yes,” she murmurs back with a smirk.  
  
“Do you normally feel this way the next day?”  
  
“Last night was an exception.  It was a very…large meeting.”  She can’t meet his blue-eyed gaze.  “I didn’t anticipate all our activities.  Or the number of clients.”  
  
She’s not going to give him details about how she was passed from man to man at that party, five in all, young, loud, and disgusting; she’s not used to handling that many on her own, and despite how she feels now, she’s grateful that they forced the Ecstasy pill on her, shoved it into her mouth and made her swallow it.  It’s given her memories a blurred edge, a distance so that she can deal with it all.  
  
She feels him wince beside her, and he places a hesitant hand on her arm.  She relaxes under the touch.  She is tempted to move closer, but she stays where she is.  
  
“Is there anything I can do for you?”  He’s closed the distance between them; his breath whispers past her ear.  
  
She looks up at him through her lashes.  “I think I’ll be all right.”  
  
He just presses his thumb into the crook of her elbow and rubs it in a gentle circle.  Her pulse quickens, and when he smirks, she flushes with pleasure and embarrassment.  She watches his thumb move along her skin, her lips parted slightly.  His forehead touches along the side of her head, his mouth just brushing against her cheekbone.  
  
“Hey, Sophie, I got the cloth.”  
  
Finnick’s voice makes her jump, and in a flurry of movement, Nate disappears.  She looks up at Finnick, bewildered, and he gives her a sad smile before laying the damp cloth over her forehead and kissing her cheek.

***************

All of the victors are really like an incestuous family.  They don’t always like each other, they fight most of the time, and everyone has favorites, but they are tied together by bonds they can’t seem to break.  
  
They’ve survived the Games and that alone means that despite the arguments and jealousies, they will defend each other to the death.  
  
Sophie learned early on that sex is different with the victors.  It’s just a form of comfort, nothing special to be shared between two people.  She supposes that when you sell your body enough it ceases to be worth much at all.  She’s certainly not an exception to that idea.  She’s fucked most of her fellow mentors at some point for a “client’s” own purposes; and she’s fucked a slightly smaller amount just because that’s what they do.  
  
One encounter she’s never been particularly proud of was the time she let Brutus push her up against a wall and take her.  She was looking for punishment, wanted his hard hands to bruise her, and it was all over in a few sweaty minutes that didn’t solve the ache lurking inside her.  
  
But she looks on the others with fondness.  There’s Enobaria with her sharp teeth and the thrill of danger, surprisingly gentle and soothing.  Cashmere and Gloss almost always come in a pair.  The rumor is that they have their own romantic relationship but everyone pretends like that’s a silly idea.  
  
Johanna is hard and demanding; she prefers to dominate.  Cecelia is motherly and kind, but she doesn’t fuck anyone now except her husband.  Parker is all angles, blonde hair and flashing hazel eyes that are impish and promise surprises.  Things are easy with Parker, simpler.  She adores Sophie.  
  
Eliot fascinates her.  He’s short, well-muscled and solid, but he moves with a fluid grace he shouldn’t be able to achieve.  He keeps his hair long, and he looks perpetually angry, but he softens when he moves inside her, attentive and needy.  
  
Maggie is different from the others.  Maybe, most importantly, it’s because she’s Nate’s ex-wife, separated from him by the mutual loss of their son.  She and Maggie have always been friends, as long as Sophie has been friends with Nate.  And Maggie is so beautiful in a way that’s pure, angelic.  Having Maggie was like having a piece of Nate, something Sophie wants so desperately.  And it only happened once.  
  
 _The beat of the music thudded against Sophie’s ears, bleeding into her skin and warring with the flow of her blood.  The club was called Vices, and she preferred to come here when she was looking for a good time with no strings attached.  She could always count on a fellow victor being around._  
  
 _And, to no surprise, Enobaria was lurking along the back wall, chatting up some young man who was entranced by her flashing eyes and too-sharp teeth.  Sophie smirked; the boy had no chance.  Enobaria would eat him alive.  Sophie caught a glimpse of Cashmere and Gloss dancing, too close, and she ignored them._  
  
 _There was a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye, and Sophie turned toward the bar, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Maggie Ford sitting on a stool.  Sophie sauntered over and slid onto a neighboring stool._  
  
 _“I wouldn’t expect this to be your type of place.”  The music made it so Sophie had to lean in close to Maggie._  
  
 _Maggie jumped and pressed a hand to her chest.  “Oh.  I’m sorry, I didn’t see you sit down.”_  
  
 _“Parker’s been giving me some tips on being sneaky.”  Sophie motioned to the bartender for her usual and looked Maggie up and down.  “Now, what are you doing here?”_  
  
 _“I was called to the Capitol for…”  Maggie waved a hand through the air.  “Business, I guess you could call it.”_  
  
 _She laughed, the sound hollow, and she drained her glass of its amber liquid.  Sophie watched through narrowed eyes and only sipped on her drink when the bartender slid it to her.  It had been nine months since Sam had died, since Maggie had lost her only son, and Sophie felt the anger rising in her blood at Snow for making Maggie come here so soon._  
  
 _“Nate hasn’t been called in, though,” Maggie said after she finished off another drink.  “Probably a good thing because all he does is drink.  I worried for a little while that he might try to kill himself.”_  
  
 _“No, he wouldn’t.  He believes in suffering.”  Sophie meant for the words to be light, but Maggie looked distraught over the idea._  
  
 _Now that she thought about it, Sophie supposed that nothing could be light after such a loss._  
  
 _“I do want to thank you for what your friend, William, did for us.  I wanted to thank him in person, but I was told he wasn’t practicing anymore when I tried to contact him.”_  
  
 _Sophie threw back the rest of her drink and winced at the burn.  “Well, he’s dead.”_  
  
 _“Oh.  I’m sorry.”_  
  
 _Maggie laid a hand on Sophie’s arm, and Sophie wanted to throw it off.  She didn’t deserve any sympathy for what happened to William because it was her own fault.  There were some rebellious acts that couldn’t be forgiven, not even if the guilty party was a Capitol citizen and was acting only out of love._  
  
 _Sophie shook her head.  “It’s all right.  Nothing can be done about it now.”_  
  
 _The bartender brought both of them fresh drinks, and Sophie ran her forefinger around the rim of her glass as she watched Maggie swallow the dark liquid.  Maggie swayed a little, probably not accustomed to drinking all that much, and Sophie grabbed Maggie’s elbow to keep her from falling off the stool._  
  
 _That pushed them even closer, and Maggie’s lips brushed against the corner of Sophie’s mouth; Maggie whispered something Sophie couldn’t hear and turned into Sophie, kissing her.  Sophie responded before remembering who this woman was, and she pulled away._  
  
 _“Maggie,” Sophie’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat.  “What about…”_  
  
 _“I’m not here to be faithful to my husband,” Maggie replied with a bitter smile.  “I just want to feel…something.  Something else.”_  
  
 _Sophie nodded her head and drew Maggie back to her._  
  
 _They ended up at Sophie’s apartment in the city, and as they lay side by side, Maggie curled into Sophie and rested her head on Sophie’s shoulder.  Sophie could feel the dampness of Maggie’s tears._  
  
 _“I think my marriage is over,” Maggie whispered.  “I think I’ve known for awhile, really, and I just didn’t want to give up.  I wanted to be able to fix Nate.  Fix us to what we used to be.”_  
  
 _“Are you sure?”  Sophie fumbled the words, cursing under her breath._  
  
 _Maggie pressed her lips to Sophie’s neck.  “I don’t think I would be here if I wasn’t.”_

***************

Sophie paces the floor of the apartment’s living area, pulling at the tight dress stretched across her hips.  Every time she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the wall, she can only see red.  Red lips, red dress.  The color makes her feel sticky, like she’s been bathed in blood.  
  
Aria and Imanuel helped her get ready tonight for her appointment.  Sophie has too many nights out for the entire prep team to be called in each time, so they alternate.  It’s not like all of them are needed, anyway.  It’s so much of a routine that two more people would only make the process longer.  
  
It’s the end of the second day of training, and Sophie can feel the exhaustion dogging her every step.  She’s smiled and laughed with sponsors all afternoon, attempting to charm them into giving her tributes money; at this point, she and Finnick have managed to get plenty of money pledged to their coffers for the Games so that’s one worry off her chest.  
  
Finnick has already gone to his appointment, but he won’t be back before her tonight.  He’s attending a party with Johanna, Maggie, and Brutus, and Sophie knows Finnick may stumble in tomorrow morning.  It’s the way these things go.  
  
She only has a quiet evening ahead of her with an older man who is a personal friend of Snow’s.  She has no doubt it will be unpleasant, but he doesn’t seem as though he will be cruel.  
  
So she chews on the side of a nail and waits for the cab to come pick her up.  When the elevator doors open, she whirls around in surprise.  
  
She places a hand on her hip and smiles.  “Nate.”  
  
“Sophie.”  Nate nods in her direction, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes darken when they travel the length of her body.  
  
He walks over to the small table across the room and pours three fingers of scotch into a glass.  She watches him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to offer an explanation because she’s not going to ask for it.  
  
“I see you have plans tonight.”  He gestures to her outfit with his glass and drains it.  “Are you leaving soon?”  
  
“When my cab gets here,” she replies slowly.  
  
She takes a step toward him, and he skirts around her, just barely keeping from brushing against her.  She huffs impatiently and sits down on the couch.  He starts pacing, his strides long and even.  
  
“Are you going out for business or pleasure?”  
  
“Business.”  None of the victors feel comfortable with the word “whore,” so they act like they’re just going to a job that has no title and no description.  
  
He frowns.  “How many appointments do you have this time?”  When she doesn’t answer after a few moments, he stops walking and looks at her.  “Sophie, how many?”  
  
“Seven.”  A blush colors her cheeks; she hates the shame sitting low in her stomach.  
  
The color drains from his face, and he rubs his eyes.  “I didn’t…I wish….  I don’t like it.”  
  
He pronounces the words with such finality, as if he has any say, that she can’t help the rage that makes her mind go blinding white for a moment before focusing intently back on him.  
  
“Well, it’s not like I have choice.”  She keeps her voice steady, pointed as she stands up and walks to him.  “I don’t _enjoy_ selling my body to whoever wants it.  But, _you_ don’t like it!  That just changes everything!”  
  
He backs up, holding his hands in front of him.  “No, Soph, I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
“Then what do you mean?”  She’s tempted to slap him; her hand twitches at her side.  
  
“I don’t like to see you used like you’re nothing because you deserve better.”  
  
“And what would be better?  You?”  
  
He ducks his head, and she sighs.  She takes his hand and tugs him a little closer.  
  
“If I could stop doing all this, I would.  But I’m doing this to protect Mags and Annie and Finnick.  And, even you.”  He lifts his head, and she looks steadily up at him.  “But, Nate, what are you doing here if you don’t want me?”  
  
He just stares down at her, his face set like stone; she sees the twitch of his lips, his slightly dilated eyes, and feels the shift of his body as he leans further into her.  
  
She kisses him first, her right hand sliding into his brown curls as she slants her lips over his, pulling at him.  He crushes her to his body in a swift movement, his fingers tangling in the hair that falls down her back, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip.  He slides his tongue into her mouth, and she moans, dragging her nails along the back of his neck.  
  
She hears the buzzer announcing the cab’s arrival.  Nate ignores it and takes a step forward, pushing her back, guiding her to the couch.  She tugs his bottom lip through her teeth and releases him when he groans softly, slipping out of his grasp and off to the side.  
  
He looks at her, bewildered, and she walks away, stepping into the elevator.  She doesn’t turn around until the doors close behind her.  She leans against the wall and looks into the reflective surface of the doors.  Her hair is a mess of tangles now, and her lipstick is smudged.  Tears hover in her eyes, and she blinks them away as she wipes off the smear of red that looks garish against her skin.


	3. night has always pushed up day

** night has always pushed up day **   
_“Night has always pushed up day_   
_You must know life to see decay_   
_But I won’t rot, I won’t rot_   
_Not this mind and not this heart,_   
_I won’t rot.”_   
_- **“After the Storm” by Mumford and Sons**_

  
Sophie nudges Eliot’s arm with her shoulder as she sits down beside him.  “Something on your mind?”  
  
“Just thinking,” he mutters.  He turns to her with a wry grin.  “You and Nate fighting again?”  
  
“What makes you think that?”  
  
“He’s in a bad mood, and you’re here because you want something.”  He shrugs.  “Not hard to figure out.”  
  
She leans into his side, placing her hand on his arm.  “I haven’t seen you for awhile.  I thought we could…catch up.”  
  
He stiffens under her fingers, and she smiles a little with triumph.  But his smile fades into a frown, his jaw tensing.  She sighs and slumps back into the couch’s cushions.  
  
“I ain’t really looking to help you make Nate jealous,” he says slowly.  “You’ve got Finnick and Tara for that.”  
  
“You really think of me that way?  That I just use people?”  She withdraws her hand and crosses her arms over her chest.  
  
“Didn’t say there was anything wrong with that.”  Eliot prods at her thigh and gives her a small smile.  “Hell, we all do it.  Least you’re honest about it.”  
  
“So you don’t want to use me, is that it?” she teases, pulling her legs onto the couch and tucking them underneath her.  
  
“Pretty much.  Nate’s my friend.  Don’t want to piss him off.”  
  
“He doesn’t own me, you know.”  
  
“Street goes both ways, darling.”  
  
Sophie curls into his side and leans her head on his shoulder; she dances her fingers along Eliot’s arm, feeling the lines of his muscles.  Eliot is one who doesn’t really care for close contact, but he lets her do what she wants.  
  
She was the first one to seek him out after he lost his first tribute; ever since then, it wasn’t unusual to find him outside her door when the nightmares were too much, at least, up until the last few years.  He allows Parker to touch him as she pleases as well, but Sophie isn’t privy to the details of why.  But the two of them are the only exceptions Eliot allows.  
  
What she really likes about Eliot is the way he talks, straightforward, honest.  There’s nothing sly or cunning about him, nothing manipulative when he speaks to her, and it’s a nice change from the atmosphere of the Capitol that thrives on lies and flattery.  
  
“You must think I’m an idiot,” she murmurs as she tucks his long hair behind his ears.  
  
He shakes his head, his hair falling right back into his face.  “Not any more than the rest of us.  At least you know it.”  
  
She follows the line of his gaze and watches Johanna and Finnick at one of the windows.  Johanna is more animated than normal, a smile on her face as she touches Finnick’s arm.  Sophie feels badly for the girl, in love or something like it with a man who only has eyes for another.  From the way Finnick is acting, he has no clue about Johanna’s feelings.  
  
“I named a horse after you.”  
  
Sophie raises an eyebrow.  “A horse?  What is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“She’s a beautiful horse.  Graceful.”  He winks at her.  “She might be my favorite.”  
  
Sophie shoves his shoulder, laughing, and he chuckles in response when the force barely moves his body.  Mikel comes over and whispers something in Eliot’s ear.  Eliot pats Sophie’s thigh and stands up.  
  
“Well, we have a sponsor to talk to,” he explains, sliding his hands into his pockets.  “Seems he’s changed his mind about giving money to our tributes.”  
  
His mouth curls slightly in distaste, and Sophie wonders exactly what has been done, or will be done, to sway the sponsor.  She’s no stranger herself to trading small sexual favors for a sponsor’s money.  It’s technically against the rules the mentors are supposed to follow, but the Gamemakers pretend it doesn’t happen since it means more money to fund the Games.  
  
Parker takes Eliot’s place, bouncing on top of the cushions until her body stills on its own.  Parker brandishes a delicate gold bracelet with a slightly manic grin.  
  
“Look what I found,” she whispers.  
  
“I doubt you _found_ that bracelet,” Sophie replies, trying to pretend disinterest even as she starts scanning the room to see who is the unlucky victim of Parker’s sticky fingers.  
  
“I’m going to give it back,” Parker says, looking a little disappointed that Sophie isn’t sharing in her excitement.  “Eventually, anyway.”  
  
Sophie pulls the bracelet out of Parker’s grasp and holds it up to the light.  “Who did you take it from?”  
  
“Effie.”  
  
Sophie sighs.  “Parker, you know how that woman is.  When she notices, she’s going to be very upset.”  
  
“I’ll get it back to her before she misses it,” Parker huffs.  “I thought you would think it’s funny.  You looked sad.”  
  
“I did?”  
  
“Yeah.  Hardison said you had a fight with Nate.”  
  
“How did Hardison know that?” Sophie asks, wondering if all of her private moments are shared among the mentors.  
  
Parker shrugs.  “Eliot told him.”  
  
Sophie groans. “Does everyone know about every little thing that goes on?”  
  
“Pretty much.”  Parker takes the bracelet back and loops it around her wrist.  “I don’t know if I want to give this back.  It’s really pretty.  Shiny.”  
  
“It’s not yours, Parker.”  
  
“She can afford another one,” Parker grumbles.  
  
“And you can afford to buy your own,” Sophie replies, stretching her legs out.  
  
Parker rolls her eyes and puts her legs across Sophie’s lap, braiding a lock of her blonde hair as she leans her head over the back of the side of the couch.  Sophie watches Parker with envy, wishing she could move her body in that fashion.  
  
“Tell me a story.”  
  
Sophie smiles.  “What kind of story?”  
  
Parker sits up and scoots closer to Sophie, her fingers brushing through Sophie’s brown curls.  Sophie pushes Parker’s feet to the ground and turns around so Parker can get better access to her hair.  
  
“A happy story.  About bunnies,” Parker says softly as she starts braiding some of Sophie’s hair.  
  
Sighing, Sophie lets the last remnants of tension flow out of her body.  It’s early afternoon, and all the tributes are currently performing for the Gamemakers.  She’ll have to leave soon with Finnick to wait on Lydia and Martin, but she’s content to entertain Parker for the time being.  
  
So she conjures a simple story about a family of bunnies that finds buried treasure and never has to go hungry again because they vanquish the evil farmers who make the bunnies work very hard digging holes for planting crops.  Anyone who listens will hear the faintest trace of treason underneath the fantasy.  But it’s innocent enough, and they’re all so trapped by this life that it doesn’t matter how they feel.  Freedom costs too much now.

***************

_Sophie was just sitting down to supper with her mother and Mags when the phone rang.  All three women turned to look at it on the wall beside the back door as it shook in its cradle with the force of its rings._   
  
_Sophie looked pleadingly at her mother.  “Please, Mama, that has to be him.”_   
  
_Her mother pursed her lips in disapproval.  “We are eating, Sophie.”_   
  
_“Please, he hasn’t called in two weeks!”_   
  
_Sophie was already inching out of her chair, ready to grab the phone from behind her head when her mother sighed._   
  
_“Fine.”_   
  
_Shooting up out of her chair, Sophie snatched the phone and muttered a hurried greeting into it as she swept out the back door for privacy.  She pushed the door closed and pressed her back against it, sliding down to the ground._   
  
_“Hey,” she said quietly, almost shyly._   
  
_Nate chuckled.  “Hey.  Did I interrupt something?”_   
  
_Sophie rolled her eyes and cradled the phone against her cheek.  “We were just having supper.  Mama almost didn’t let me answer the phone.”_   
  
_“Aren’t you an adult by now?”_   
  
_“Twenty-two years old.”_   
  
_“Practically an old maid, then,” he teased.  “Why don’t you just do what you want?  It is your house, after all.”_   
  
_“Things have been tense here recently.”  Sophie sighed and let her shoulders slump.  “She worries so much, and after everything she’s been through, I don’t want to make life harder for her.”_   
  
_“That’s fair.”  Nate paused and cleared his throat, the sound crackling through the phone’s receiver.  “How is Finnick?”_   
  
_“He’s recovering.  His Victory Tour will start in a few months.”_   
  
_“Is Snow planning on…”_   
  
_“No,” she cut him off quickly, not even wanting to hear the suggestion, not on such an exposed connection.  “Finnick is just a boy.  He still has a couple of years.”_   
  
_“But there’s something else,” he said slowly._   
  
_She closed her eyes.  “Snow has already started the bidding on Finnick.”_   
  
_Nate went quiet for a few moments before saying, “That’s disgusting.”_   
  
_“Yes,” Sophie agreed.  There wasn’t really anything else to say, nothing that wouldn’t get her into trouble, anyway._   
  
_They both lapsed into silence, and Sophie twirled her fingers through the phone’s curly cord.  She listened to Nate’s breathing, matching her own to his pace, a calm in and out.  She had missed his voice, the way they could sit in comfortable silence like this, and it was as if he was sitting beside her._   
  
_“I have something to tell you.”_   
  
_Nate’s voice startled her, and Sophie dropped her fingers from the phone’s cord, her body tensing at his serious tone._   
  
_“What is it?” she asked, her voice quiet._   
  
_He sighed and laughed, the sounds harsh, a little broken.  “Maggie’s pregnant.”_   
  
_The air rushed out of Sophie’s lungs, but she managed to say, “How far along is she?”_   
  
_“I think two months.”  He paused then said, “It’s why I haven’t called you recently.  I didn’t know how to tell you.  Not after everything that happened in January.”_   
  
_His words hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she sat there, stunned, with the phone pressed to her ear._   
  
_It felt so long ago, those two days in January.  She had gone in for an exam to make sure there were no venereal diseases lurking inside her, and the tests came back with weird results.  The doctor did more tests and handed her the news with cold detachment._   
  
_He had explained there was a strict protocol in this situation for victors, and so there had been a procedure the next day.  She left the Medical Center, hollow, no longer filled with a growing life.  She hadn’t even had a choice; she was packed off back to District Four for three months before being called back to the Capitol._   
  
_Nate was the only person she had told aside from her mother and Mags._   
  
_Sophie wiped away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks and said, “I’m fine, Nate.  Really.  But, are you okay?”_   
  
_“What do you mean?”  His reply was too fast, defensive._   
  
_“You and I both know that victors’ children almost always end up in the Games,” she replied softly, hating herself for it.  “I know you’ve already thought about it.  I know you.  You’re worried.”_   
  
_“I don’t know if I can do this, Soph.”  Nate’s voice shook, too much, and she longed to be able to reach across the distance and offer him more comfort than she could provide like this.  “I mean, I don’t even know how to be a father, and I just can’t…”_   
  
_“It’s not a given, Nate.  It might not happen,” she interrupted, determined to not let him slip into a depression._   
  
_“But it’s possible,” he murmured.  “More possible than if Maggie and I were just ordinary people.”_   
  
_“You have to do what you can.”_   
  
_“How can I?  Knowing what my child might have to do.  How can I do that, Soph?”_   
  
_“Are you going to let your fear keep you from loving your child?”  She kept her voice calm and steady.  “You’ll give him a chance, Nate.  You can teach him, train him, give him what most other children never have.”_   
  
_“It might not be a boy,” he replied.  His voice already sounded lighter, and she suppressed a relieved sigh.  “You can’t predict the future.”_   
  
_“I like to try,” she said flippantly.  “Such as, I know your baby will be born in the spring.”_   
  
_“That’s just basic math, Sophie.”_   
  
_“Mmm, maybe.”  She laughed and said, “Don’t wait so long to call me again.”_   
  
_“I won’t,” he promised, voice warm and rich._   
  
_She listened to the click of him hanging up before dropping the phone into her lap.  She traced her forefinger along the edge of the beige plastic, the smile fading from her face._

***************

Finnick groans as he sits down next to Sophie on the couch.  
  
She smiles and nudges his shoulder.  “Long day, darling?”  
  
“You have no idea.”  He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head.  “I don’t know what to do with that kid.  He’s so timid, he has a mediocre score.  There is nothing about him that stands out.  At least Lydia has some charm.  Martin has…nothing.  I haven’t been able to find one way to make him interesting.”  
  
“Poor baby,” Sophie coos as she rolls her eyes.  “You didn’t try teaching Lydia how to walk in heels.  She doesn’t have much grace.  At all, actually.  Tara had to leave after awhile because she was so frustrated.”  
  
“But she has an alliance with the Careers, and she got a really decent score from the Gamemakers.”  
  
“Relax, Finnick.”  She leans her head on his shoulder.  “We already have plenty of money from our sponsors.  Now we just have to hope our kids can stay alive when they get into the arena.”  
  
“What are we going to do with Martin, though?” Finnick asks, rubbing her back.  “He hasn’t exactly made friends with the Careers.  I think they might be planning on killing him in the bloodbath, so we have to find a way to convince him to get out of there.  He’s pretty insistent that Lydia will side with him.”  
  
“She shouldn’t, though, not if her allies don’t want anything to do with Martin.  They’ll kill her, too, rather than carry around someone as dead weight.”  Sophie presses her fingers to her forehead.  “Did you try talking to him?”  
  
“Three times.  The kid just isn’t listening, and I don’t know how to get through to him.”  
  
“Sometimes we have to accept some losses.”  
  
Finnick narrows his eyes as he looks at her.  “Are you saying we should give up on Martin?”  
  
“Finnick, we have two tributes to keep alive.  If one of them is set on getting himself killed, then maybe we should just let him.  The second they step into that arena, they’re outside of our protection anyway.”  
  
“That’s bullshit!”  
  
“It’s the way it is,” she says calmly.  “You know that.  I’ll try talking to Martin in the morning, see if I can’t get him to make a plan to get him out of the bloodbath.  If he doesn’t, though, then you know he won’t make it out of there alive.”  
  
“Do you think Lydia will make it through?”  
  
“I don’t know.  Not with that girl from District Twelve still such a wildcard, and we don’t really know anything about the Careers yet.  You know how brutal they are, though.”  
  
“So, it’s a slim chance, then?”  Finnick wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer.  
  
“Yes, but it is a chance,” Sophie murmurs, curling closer to Finnick.  “We’ll do what we can.”  
  
“That’s not much.”  
  
She wants to argue, but he’s _right_.  She wants to hate him for it, and she can’t because she can pretend they can do something to change the roles they’ve been forced into, but it isn’t the truth.  Suddenly, his closeness feels claustrophobic, and she needs to break free.  
  
She pulls away from him, standing up, her face falling into shadow.  “No, but that’s the point, isn’t it?  To have no power over the outcome but still be responsible.” 

***************

Sophie picks up her earpiece and inserts it as she looks around the Control Room.  There are twelve stations side by side, one for each district of Panem.  She runs a casual finger along the edge of one screen.  Each station has four screens for watching the Games, two to follow the district’s tributes, one that will divide into sections for the remaining twenty-two tributes, and the last that can flip between any of those twenty-two tributes for a closer look.  
  
She turns to face the displayed map on her right.  It only shows the arena at the moment with a large gold dot for the Cornucopia and small blue dots for water sources.  If any trouble is manufactured inside the arena by the Gamemakers, the map illustrates it with a red dot.  The tributes from District Four will be displayed with green fours, and any approaching tributes will show up as red numbers representing their district.  
  
The monitors on her left show the basic statistics on her tributes’ health.  If their blood pressure or heart rate spikes, she’ll know about it.  The last screen is set inside the glass table; it displays the money given by sponsors that will be available to use and three separate buttons for the different frequencies of the earpiece.  
  
If a sponsor contacts her with a new donation, the middle button lights up.  The first button stays on the entirety of the Games, and that keeps her constantly connected to Finnick so they can talk without being confined to the one room.  The last button allows her to order gifts sent into the arena.  
  
Sophie glances around at the gathering mentors, taking in the hum of conversation as some take their seats and start fiddling with the controls of their stations.  They’re not actually doing anything, but it is a good release for overwrought nerves.  She rolls her shoulders; they’re tense with worry, and she can already feel the familiar knot that always develops at the base of her neck.  
  
She pulls at her black tunic and wanders away.  Finnick hasn’t put his earpiece in yet, so there’s only a faint hint of static in her ear.  They used to have headsets, but Hardison invented the earpieces for convenience and so the mentors could slip away for naps without having to disconnect from their partners.  
  
The room adjoining the Control Room is filled with cots and couches and no windows to let in the light so it stays in perpetual twilight.  There are some lamps lit right now, and Sophie looks at all the bags littered across the floor; all the mentors bring two changes of clothes with them so they don’t have to leave.  Showers are available if she steps through the door in the far right corner.  
  
She sinks onto one cot and closes her eyes, breathes slowly.  There’s a crackle in her ear, then Finnick’s voice.  
  
“Where’d you go?” he asks.  
  
She stretches out on the cot.  “I’m in the bedroom.  We have a few more minutes before the Games start.”  
  
“Well, everyone is almost here.  You want to head back?”  
  
“In a second.  I just…I need a moment, Finnick.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
There’s a cold silence then the static returns, and she realizes he’s taken the earpiece out until she joins him in the Control Room.  She appreciates the gesture, and she loosens her hair from its ties, shaking it out.  She puts it back up into a tight ponytail swiftly and heads back to the Control Room.  
  
The tubes are just starting to rise from the ground in the arena, and the mentors fall silent as they watch, many checking their stats screens to make sure one of theirs isn’t about to accidentally step off the metal plate.  Sophie grips Finnick’s hand as the countdown begins, and she watches Lydia bend her knees a little, pointed toward the Cornucopia.  She hears Finnick mutter something behind her.  It looks like Martin is headed to the Cornucopia as well as soon as the cannon booms.  
  
The cannon sounds, and the arena erupts into chaos.  The map is a mass of red, green, and gold in the center, and it’s impossible to be able to tell who is around Lydia and Martin.  Sophie catches a glimpse of the boy from District One, Marvel, flanking Lydia, a spear already in his hands.  Lydia has a short sword and a couple of long knives tucked into her belt.  
  
Marvel moves away to deal with an approaching tribute, and Lydia continues forward, stopping short when Martin appears in front of her, a sling in his hands.  
  
Sophie tenses, and just as Lydia looks like she’s going to take him into the alliance despite what the other Careers think, Cato charges into the pictures and swings his sword into Martin’s neck, severing it halfway.  
  
Lydia’s scream sounds in Sophie’s ears, as well as the gurgle of blood in Martin’s mouth as he stumbles then slumps to the ground, his blood leaving his body in bursts.  
  
“We tried to warn him,” Finnick says softly from behind Sophie as the screen for Martin goes dark and his stats blink off.  
  
Sophie shakes her head.  “Don’t.  Not right now.”  
  
She looks around the room.  Other stations have gone completely dark, both tributes gone in the first few minutes.  The mentors will stay for the duration of the Games; it’s not as if they have anywhere else they can go.

***************

_Sophie watched as Nemo drove his spear into the male tribute from District One, Luxor.  Luxor fell to the ground, blood spluttering out of his mouth as he gasped for air.  Nemo pushed the spear in deeper, twisting it, pulling it out partway and shoving it back as deep as it would go until the point broke through Luxor’s back._   
  
_Luxor twitched and slumped forward; Nemo kicked him over and stumbled back from the body as the cannon boomed, wiping blood from his face.  He turned to Sophie and grinned._   
  
_“Well, that leaves only four of us,” he said as he rubbed his hands along his torn jacket._   
  
_Sophie nodded.  “Yes, it does.”_   
  
_She slipped a sharpened knife from her belt and tapped the flat of it against the palm of her hand.  Nemo was still smiling at her as the hovercraft descended and retrieved Luxor’s body._   
  
_“That was your last spear,” she said slowly._   
  
_He shrugged.  “I have more at our camp.”_   
  
_She cocked her head to one side.  “True.  But they won’t do you much good here.”_   
  
_Nemo stiffened a little, his eyes widening as she approached him, the knife clutched tightly in her right hand.  She was poised to throw it at a moment’s notice._   
  
_He stumbled back.  “Wait.  We’re allies.  I thought…”_   
  
_“It has to end sometime,” she replied quietly, her eyes darkening in the fading light.  “It’s nothing personal, Nemo.  But I can’t exactly trust you anymore.”_   
  
_“I promise that I won’t hurt you,” he begged.  “Please, just let me go.”_   
  
_She paused, straightening up, considering the idea.  They had started off with four other members of their group.  It had been her machinations that resulted in their deaths, the way she knew how to turn her head just so, flash a smile and say just the right thing at the right moment._   
  
_It turned out that all boys could be manipulated the exact same way.  But Sophie had promised her mother she would come home, and so she had transformed into a new Sophie, a young woman who reveled in killing and smiled when blood splattered across her face.  This Sophie, a mask of survival, believed in only one thing:  be the first to strike._   
  
_“Fine.  I’ll give you ten seconds,” she replied._   
  
_“What?”_   
  
_“Ten, nine, eight…”_   
  
_Nemo took off, running desperately through the tall grass.  She watched and just kept counting, sure that he wouldn’t be able to beat her.  He wasn’t as adept at maneuvering through the undergrowth as her, and his fear was slowing him down._   
  
_“Two, one,” she finished under her breath, launching into a sprint._   
  
_She weaved in and out of the trees, catching a flash of Nemo’s bright yellow jacket ahead of her.  He fell to the ground with a cry, and she overtook him.  With a swift gesture, she pulled the knife across his neck, digging deep into the delicate skin, his head falling back into her left hand._   
  
_Blood poured out of him.  In his dying struggle, he turned to look at her with wide eyes, dark, thick blood spraying into her face with his last breath.  She slipped to the ground with him in her arms.  His body jerked one more time, and it was over, the cannon booming, the sound echoing through her ears._   
  
_An apology hovered on her lips, and she forced it back.  If she had waited much longer, he would have shoved one of his spears through her spine.  There was only one way to play this game:  kill or be killed._   
  
_She let his body fall through her hands, and she staggered away, leaving her blood-slick knife beside him.  She could only see red now, her hands grasping at leaves and branches, leaving behind ugly streaks of his death.  She licked her lips and choked on the taste of his blood._

***************

“Sophie.  Hey, Soph, wake up.”  
  
Sophie stirs from her sleep and moans quietly at the intrusion of Finnick’s voice through her earpiece.  
  
“What’s going on?” she mumbles, her voice raspy.  
  
“It’s almost morning.  Haymitch says that Katniss should be making her move soon.”  
  
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Sophie replies in a hushed voice.  
  
She has an arm draped over her waist, and she glances over her shoulder to see the arm belongs to Nate; Parker is curled up close to her, so Sophie scoots forward and shakes Parker’s arm.  
  
“Parker, you need to wake up.”  
  
Parker snaps her eyes open and sits up, stretching.  Sophie tries to move Nate’s arm off her body without disturbing him, but he moves restlessly before looking up at her.  
  
“What’s going on?”  He keeps his voice low out of consideration for all the other mentors sleeping around them.  
  
“Things are about to happen,” Sophie murmurs back.  
  
“I’ll come with you,” he says, already clambering to his feet.  
  
Sophie shrugs and takes his proffered hand, letting him pull her up beside him.  She looks over the floor of the room, smiling at the sight of the sleeping mentors tangled in a heap of limbs, on a break from the Control Room for a few hours.  For some reason, they all decided to pull the cushions off the couches and made a makeshift den so no one had to sleep alone.  
  
It’s been like this since the first night.  
  
Parker has already made her way to the door and is waiting impatiently for Sophie and Nate.  Chaff is with Finnick and Haymitch in the Control Room.  Enobaria, Cashmere, and Gloss are huddled around the stations for their districts, and Sophie greets them with a tired smile.  
  
Finnick hands Sophie a cup of coffee when she reaches him; she normally drinks tea, but with the long hours, she needs the caffeine to keep her alert.  Parker continues on to her station where Chaff is waiting with a bowl of cereal, and Nate ambles between the stations, stopping by his district’s periodically to look in on his surviving girl tribute.  
  
A close-up feed of Katniss is on one of the monitors, and Sophie studies the girl curiously as she sips at her coffee.  The Careers are scattered around the base of Katniss’s tree.  Sophie spies Lydia curled up near Marvel, one of her hands clutching her sword.  
  
Sophie notices the boy from District Twelve, Peeta, is awake and alert, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Cato.  All of the mentors know about the game Peeta is playing, and Sophie can’t help feeling a small amount of admiration for his dedication to Katniss.  
  
If Lydia doesn’t make it out alive, Sophie might just hope that Peeta will be the winner.  
  
Sophie finishes her coffee as morning starts to break in the arena; Katniss will have to make her move soon.  Finnick shoves a small plate of food in front of her, and she nibbles on the toast, forcing herself to swallow it.  
  
They watch as Katniss shoos Rue away and climbs up the tree; each time Katniss’s knife passes across the limb and no one stirs below, Sophie’s heart pounds harder.  There’s still time.  Lydia can get out of there if she only wakes up and realizes what’s going on above her.  
  
Then Katniss pushes the limb free from the tree, and the nest crashes into the ground, sending trackerjackers swarming over the tributes below.  Sophie cries out as the trackerjackers sting anyone within reach without discrimination.  She can tell that Lydia has been stung too many times to survive.  
  
Lydia’s stats are going crazy, her heart rate elevated far beyond what is normal.  Sophie shakes her head and runs out of the Control Room, trying to keep breathing.  The screams from the stung tributes are in her ear, and she can hear Lydia’s agonized cries, her harsh gasps for air as she stumbles.  
  
Sophie pulls the tiny earpiece out and flings it across the hallway.  Arms encircle her from behind, and she tries to pull away, tears streaming down her face.  
  
“Sophie, it’s just me,” Nate says in a firm, quiet voice.  “It’s okay.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” she chokes out because she’s crying now, sobbing because she’s failed _again._   “It can’t be.”  
  
He just pulls her closer to his chest, presses his cheek against the back of her head.  She can’t look at him.

***************

The sun is blazing hot, high in the sky.  The heat is only helped by a slight breeze that catches at the escaping tendrils of her hair.  Sophie lifts the bottle of whiskey to her lips, drinks, winces at the burn.  
  
By the end of the day, her skin will be red and sore from the exposure.  Not that she’ll notice, though, because she plans on being incredibly drunk as well.  Sweat clings to her skin, sticky against her sleeveless shirt and shorts.  
  
She takes another drink, a longer swallow this time; the heat makes the whiskey feel thicker in her mouth.  She tosses her ponytail off her shoulder, and the weight of her hair falls against her back.  
  
This isn’t a normal day.  It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the same day each year.  It’s a day of mourning.  Sometimes it comes right on the heels of the Games.  Other times, it falls closer to winter, nearer the time when she lost her mother.  She’s learned to let the feelings come and to deal with them in her own way.  
  
It’s not helping her heal, but then again, that’s not what she really wants.  
  
The sand is blinding white under the sun, so she closes her eyes, the light still a heavy pressure on her face.  She tips the bottle against her lips.  
  
 _“Sam’s sick, Sophie.”  Nate’s voice cracked, desperate._  
  
 _“What?  When did this happen?”_  
  
 _“A week ago.  The doctors here don’t know what to do.”  A pause, then the rest spilled out of his mouth.  “They don’t think he’ll make it if we don’t take him to the Capitol.”_  
  
 _“What are you going to do?”_  
  
 _“Whatever it takes, Soph.”_  
  
Sophie feels something wash over her toes and glances down absentmindedly; the waves are closer than before, near enough to just creep over her feet.  She moves back and takes a long swallow of whiskey.  
  
It wasn’t the arena that killed Sam like they had all feared when he was born.  In a way, it was worse than losing him to the Games because it was unexpected.  
  
She tried everything to help Sam, to help a slowly unraveling Nate.  It didn’t change anything.  And, it doesn’t matter now.  Sam is still dead.  She shakes her head, wipes away the sweat gathering on her upper lip with the back of her hand, and drinks deeply from the bottle.  
  
 _“So, do we have a deal?” Sophie asked, leaning forward in the cushioned chair._  
  
 _“Yes, Miss Devereaux, we have a deal,” Snow replied with a mild smile.  “You may do your best to get this favor for Mr. Ford, and I will not interfere.”_

_William never liked the arrangement, but he didn’t try to stop Sophie from her goal._  
  
 _“I don’t like seeing you sell your body for these favors,” he said one night._  
  
 _He sat on the bed, watching her get ready for a rendezvous with a prominent businessman who could get her an appointment with the best doctor in the Capitol.  She shook her head impatiently and sighed._  
  
 _“It’s almost over, William,” Sophie said quietly.  “And we’re running out of time.”_  
  
 _“Then let me help. There has to be something I can do.  I am a doctor, after all, even if I’m not exactly qualified to deal with this sickness.”_  
  
 _“Snow has told you personally not to get involved.”  She tilted her head to the side and put in an earring.  “You’ll only put yourself in danger.”_  
  
 _“So I’m just supposed to sit by and let you do this on your own?”_  
  
 _Sophie caught his gaze in the mirror’s reflection.  “I don’t want anything to happen to you, William.  Please try to understand.”_  
  
 _He didn’t answer her._  
  
Looking back, she knows she should have seen William’s next move.  Of course he couldn’t watch her sell her body to any powerful person who would take it and not do something himself.  
  
She just wishes that she had been less wrapped up in Nate and paid more attention.  Maybe she could have stopped William.  But this kind of thinking is useless.  The past is the past, she knows this, but it is all she has.  
  
The sun has crawled higher in the sky, but the heat feels less oppressive and more like a comfort.  Drunkenness has its benefits.  
  
 _The scene wasn’t what she had expected when she had been led to the basement of Snow’s mansion.  William was kneeling between two Peacekeepers, a little bruised, but he looked like he hadn’t been treated too roughly._  
  
 _She looked to Snow.  “What’s going on?”_  
  
 _President Snow smiled and stood beside her as he said, “William here decided to disobey my instructions and went to District Five in a misguided attempt to help Samuel Ford.  A useless effort, unfortunately, now that the boy has died.”_  
  
 _Sophie felt like all the air had been knocked out of her.  “What?  Sam’s…dead?  When did this happen?”_  
  
 _“This morning,” Snow replied as if he was just discussing the weather instead of a little boy’s death.  “Now, I have to determine William’s punishment.  The reason for all the secrecy is that I can’t have it getting out that Capitol citizens are participating in rebellious activities.”_  
  
 _“You promised,” Sophie stammered.  “You said that if I got the appointment for Sam, he could come here to get better.  I’ve had a standing appointment for him for an entire week.”_  
  
 _“No, I said I wouldn’t interfere.”  Snow sighed and frowned.  “Nathan Ford has been suspected of communicating with rebels.  Even if it’s only a rumor, it’s still a dangerous notion to have out there.  I couldn’t risk turning a blind eye, so I punished him, guilty or not.”_  
  
 _“By letting his son die?  Why not just kill Nate instead?”_  
  
 _Snow laughed.  “Because, my dear, you know very well that victors are valuable.  It was only one little boy.  If he had died in the arena, no one would bat an eye.”  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Now, what to do with William?  It’s probably best not to leave any marks people can see.  I’m sure his mother will have a visitation, probably an open casket.”_  
  
 _“What do you mean?” Sophie whispered, her knees going weak._  
  
 _William looked at her, opened his mouth; a strangled sound passed through his lips, and she bit back a scream.  They had already cut William’s tongue out._  
  
 _“Well, treason is grounds for an execution,” Snow said mildly.  “And, I felt you could use a reminder about the costs of rebellion.”_  
  
 _Sophie was on her knees in front of Snow before she could think, tilting her head back to look up at him.  She nearly choked on the stench of roses and blood surrounding him, but she didn’t let the revulsion show on her face._  
  
 _“I’ll do anything,” she pleaded, grasping at Snow’s trouser leg.  “Please.  He only did it because he loves me.”_  
  
 _Snow nodded his head.  “True.  But, that in itself is a problem.  Did either of you seriously think I would let you marry?  This is the only solution.”_  
  
 _Sophie bowed her head, and when William’s agonized screams pierced her ears, she sat staring at the floor, her back to him.  She didn’t say anything._  
  
Sophie swirls the whiskey around in the bottle, watching the light catch in the liquid, and smiles a little.  She turns her attention out to the sea and the horizon beyond.  There are clouds gathering on the edges, a possible storm that won’t hit until tonight or the next day.  
  
Her stomach rumbles a little.  She hasn’t eaten anything all day, which explains how she’s barely made a dent in the whiskey and it’s already going to her head.  From the position of the sun, it looks to be only a little past noon.  She turns her head to examine her right arm, pressing down on the skin with her forefinger, watching the slight imprint turn white then go back to red.  
  
She swallows some whiskey, breathes, then drinks some more.  She has thirty-five deaths staining her hands.  She has watched almost everyone who has come into her life eventually die, die because of her.  
  
Five tributes she murdered in the arena during her own Games.  Twenty-eight innocent children sacrificed to the Games.  William lost because he loved her and she didn’t love him enough to walk away.  Her mother dead because of Sophie’s selfishness.  
  
 _Sophie knew something was wrong the second she approached her house in the Victor Village.  There was an eerie silence replacing all the usual sounds of people working in their gardens, Mags teaching Finnick’s little sister to make fish hooks and weave nets, and her mother singing as she cleaned the house or cooked supper._  
  
 _Breaking into a run, Sophie rushed inside, breathless as she searched the kitchen, passing over a cold stove, past dishes still in the sink from that morning; she listened for movement from upstairs, something to reassure her, keep her rising panic at bay._  
  
 _It was her worst fear coming to life.  She should have known better than to refuse the summons to the Capitol only a month after William’s death.  She had thought there would be a warning._  
  
 _She prayed that her panic was all for nothing, that her mother was simply visiting Finnick’s family or Mags, but as Sophie stumbled into the vegetable garden that was her mother’s pride and joy, she cried out, the sound broken and strangling in her throat._  
  
 _Her mother lay in the middle of the carefully planted rows, her red-gold hair strewn over green leaves, her glassy eyes staring back at Sophie.  Sophie scrambled on her hands and knees, whimpering, and she touched her mother with trembling fingers, stiff skin cold beneath Sophie’s hands._  
  
 _Mags and Finnick found Sophie sitting beside the body as the sun was setting.  Another summons came from the Capitol in the morning, and Sophie went, her eyes dry and her lips smiling._  
  
Sophie licks her lips, tastes the salt on them, and she wipes the tears off her cheeks.  Her hand shakes around the bottle’s neck as she lifts the bottle to her mouth and drinks deeply.  The whiskey no longer burns as it travels down her throat.  
  
A hand tugs the bottle from her fingers, and Sophie turns to see Finnick crouching on her right, a sad smile on his face.  He lowers himself to the ground, and Sophie catches sight of Annie on the other side of him, her long dark hair flowing in the strengthening breeze.  Sophie looks to her left and watches Marcus help Mags sit down in the sand, settling on the opposite side of the older woman.  
  
“You know, Sophie, we’re not much, but we’re the family you have,” Finnick says softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm.  “And, we all have a reason to mourn.”  
  
He passes the whiskey to Annie, and she takes a small sip, her green eyes narrowing at the burn.  Finnick takes the bottle next and drinks, handing it off to Sophie when he’s done.  The bottle goes up and down their little line, silence around them except for the crash of the incoming waves and the calls of the seagulls overhead.


	4. have no place to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Part Two: this is what I chose**
> 
> _“nothing is going on here that I haven’t signed up for. There wasn’t a lot of choice, but there was some,_ _and this is what I chose.”_   
>  _\- The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood_
> 
> _“She offered herself to the big, bad wolf and didn’t scream when he took the first bite.”_   
>  _\- Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson_
> 
> _“Blood is thicker than water. That’s what they say. But in truth, most things are.”_   
>  _\- The Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray_

  
** have no place to stay **   
_“If it keeps on raining, levee’s gonna break_   
_If it keeps on raining, levee’s gonna break_   
_When the levee breaks, have no place to stay”_   
_**\- “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin** _   


It’s cold and dark when Sophie reaches her apartment in the Capitol.  It’s not in the exact center of the city, but it’s close enough.  The lights are already on, and Sophie sheds her coat as she steps inside and looks around.  
  
Her Capitol apartment is nothing like her home in District Four.  It’s a standard-issue for all victors, sterile white walls, dark grey carpet, and sleek black furniture.  The impersonal nature of it doesn’t bother Sophie; it’s just a place for her to sleep at night.  
  
“Isabel?” Sophie calls, striding through the living room and locating her bedroom.  
  
Isabel appears behind her, and Sophie turns around, smiling.  Isabel is an Avox, a servant provided by the Capitol.  She’s a wisp of a woman, pale with silver blond hair, and she moves as silently as a ghost.  
  
Sophie isn’t even sure if Isabel if her real name, but the way Sophie sees it, if she’s forced to have an Avox live with her, Sophie is going to actually speak to her instead of pretending that she’s not there.  
  
Isabel takes Sophie’s coat and moves into the bedroom, placing it in the closet on the far side of the room.  
  
Sophie sighs, sinking onto the bed.  “I had supper on the train, so don’t worry about that.  I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
Isabel nods her head and glides out, closing the door.  Sophie wanders over to her window and gazes out over the city.  It’s only been two months since the end of the 74th Hunger Games, and the only change has been the increasingly dropping temperature.  Lights blink on and off down below; someone is always awake here.  
  
She strips off her light sweater and pants, stretching.  Tara will come by tomorrow, and Sophie can find out if there are any other victors in the Capitol at the moment.  For now, Sophie glances at the bed and tries to decide on her next course of action.  She’s not very tired, and she feels restless.  There are plenty of clubs open.  She can always spend a night out.  
  
Her front door’s buzzer goes off, and Sophie groans; she doesn’t want a visitor right now, but she shrugs into a silk robe, tying it around her waist as she wanders to the living room.  Isabel is already at the door, opening it and standing aside for the person outside.  
  
Nate comes in and gives Sophie a small smile.  “I heard you were going to be here for a little while.”  
  
“And where did you hear that?” Sophie replies as she walks to her wet bar.  
  
“You know that there aren’t secrets here.”  Nate trails after her.  “It is a little late, actually.  What took so long?”  
  
“The train was held up in District Three,” Sophie says mildly as she pours a small amount of whiskey into two glasses.  “I didn’t pester my keepers with any questions, though.  They seemed on edge.”  
  
She turns to Nate, offers him a glass, and he takes it with a smirk; he drinks it all with one swallow and shifts past her to pour more.  She sips at her glass and glances over his shoulder to see that Isabel has disappeared again.  
  
“Probably a wise decision.”  He walks to her couch and sits down.  “How long are you going to be here?”  
  
“Since you’re the one with all the information, maybe you can tell me that,” she teases as she settles on the far side of the couch, pulling her legs up onto the cushion beside her so that her toes just brush against his thigh.  
  
He shakes his head.  “I don’t know everything.  Almost everything.  The difference is important.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, she watches him lift the decanter of whiskey he brought over with him and splash more into his glass.  The low light plays over him, throwing his face into sharp relief.  He’s more haggard than when they met, older, like life has beaten him down and he’s struggling just to get out of bed, much less bother with actually living.  
  
It’s a problem that she doesn’t care to think about most of the time.  She tends to take the path of least resistance with Nate when she can, when she thinks it won’t do any permanent damage.  It hurts less that way.  
  
“So are you here for business as well?” she asks quietly.  
  
He pauses, his glass halfway to his mouth, his mouth tightening, his eyes going a little darker.  He lets out a short bark of laughter and slings back the whiskey.  
  
“Of course.  Why else would I come here?”  
  
“It’s just that…”  
  
“I’m not a normal favorite.”  He smiles, but it looks more like he’s baring his teeth at her.  “Unlike you.”  
  
She narrows her eyes and sits a little straighter.  “What are you saying?”  
  
His fingers fumble along the cut crystal decanter, but he manages to pour more whiskey for himself.  She drains her glass and sets it down on the table, letting him give her more; when she reaches for it, the dark liquid sits just below the rim.  
  
“People talk, you know,” she murmurs.  “You’ve never fetched a high bid.  Not even the year you won your Games.”  
  
His hand tightens around his glass.  “Do you feel superior because more people have made you their whore?”  
  
“No, I just think you need to understand that they think I’m worth more for the exact same service.”  
  
She takes her glass, drinks deeply, wincing at the burn.  Nate stares at her, his hand still wrapped around his whiskey, his face like stone.  She knows this will go one of two ways:  He will drink the whiskey, say something awful and leave.  Or he’ll drink the whiskey and let the moment pass, slip back into the good part of their friendship.  
  
The former happens more often than the latter.  She resents him for that far more than she should.  
  
The furrow between his eyebrows deepens, tightens, then he ducks his head and drinks only half of his whiskey.  She lets out a long breath and stretches her legs out more fully, her feet pressing harder against his leg.  
  
He grumbles a little, but he tugs her legs into his lap.  Her robe falls open a little; she doesn’t move to adjust it.  
  
“How is life in District Four?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably as he moves his hands from the couch’s arm to his neck.  
  
She shrugs.  “Chilly.”  
  
The whiskey has started to go to her head, and she feels warm, languid, more aware of the ways she can seduce him.  His fingers skitter up and down her leg, nervous.  She drinks more from her glass and licks her lips.  
  
Nate watches her, his eyes wide, and he moves to his feet in a sudden motion that nearly sends her to the floor.  He rubs his hands along his legs and clutches the curls on the back of his neck nervously.  
  
“I should go.  It’s getting late,” he stammers.  
  
She follows him to the door.  He pulls it open, starts outside, and turns back.  As she steps a little closer, the heat rises in her skin when he sways slightly in her direction.  The seconds stretch out between them, a moment that will shatter if she moves first.  With a shake of his head, it dissipates into nothing, and his lips quirk into a stiff smile as he turns to leave.  
  
When he’s gone, she closes the door and leans heavily against it, surveying the room.  She sees the open decanter on the table and his half-finished glass.   Sighing, she walks to the glass and picks it up, swirls the liquid around, considers.  
  
She places her mouth over where the glass had touched his lips and finishes off the whiskey.

***************

Two nights later, she goes out.  Nate asked her to meet him at _Vices_ , which she still doesn’t understand.  He certainly has his own addictions, but he doesn’t fit in with the loud bass beat of the music or the slick crowd that revolves in and out of the doors.  
  
Still, she doesn’t protest.  When it’s not Hunger Games season in the Capitol, they all have a little more free time, their appointments spread out over a longer period instead of crammed into a series of days.  
  
She has three weeks to spend in the Capitol this time around, with about fifteen appointments already scheduled.  She might gain a few more, but those come from much lower bids.  This means she only has to stay a few hours compared to all night with her more expensive clients.  
  
She sits at the bar in a tight black dress with an open back, sipping her fruity drink, the soft fabric sliding pleasantly against her thighs when she crosses her legs.  _Vices_ is still the most popular among the victors and the more powerful citizens of the Capitol.  This translates to more privacy, which in turn means a steady underground drug trade and secret meetings.  
  
Johanna appears at Sophie’s elbow, her short black hair in stiff spikes, her hazel eyes raking over Sophie’s body.  
  
“I was expecting Nate,” Sophie says mildly, motioning to the bartender to bring a fresh drink for Johanna.  
  
Johanna shrugs and hops onto the closest bar stool.  “He’s busy with a client.  He said as long as I’m sleeping on his couch, I could meet with you for him.”  
  
Johanna takes the dark red cocktail from the bartender and gulps it down while Sophie watches her.  Johanna has her own apartment, just like all the victors, but she never uses it.  Johanna seems to prefer Nate’s apartment for some reason, but Sophie has wandered out to her own couch some nights to find Johanna there.  
  
“So, what are you supposed to tell me?” Sophie asks, finishing off her drink.  
  
Johanna slides off her stool and grabs Sophie’s hand.  “Come on, let’s go to the back rooms.  I can explain there.”  
  
Sophie snags the new drink the bartender just placed in front of her and follows after Johanna to the back.  There are rooms kept back here for clandestine hook-ups to discourage sex in the bathrooms or in the back alleyways; but it also caters to a clientele of a higher class, so the accommodations are not monitored by microphones or cameras.  
  
Johanna picks one of the middle doors and drags Sophie inside.  When Sophie moves to lock the door, Johanna waves her away.  
  
“No, we’re expecting someone else,” she says impatiently.  Then Johanna flings herself onto the bed and stretches provocatively.  “We can be putting on a show for him when he does get here.”  
  
“I didn’t sign on for kinky sex tonight,” Sophie replies as she sits down on one of the cushioned chairs.  “Who are we waiting on?”  
  
Johanna smirks.  “It’s a surprise.”  
  
Sophie swallows half of her cocktail in response.  The door opens slowly, and she stiffens as Plutarch Heavensbee walks in.  
  
“You invited a Gamemaker here?” Sophie hisses, glaring at Johanna.  
  
“Relax, it’s not anything weird,” Johanna says with a roll of her eyes.  “Maybe.”  
  
Plutarch gives them a wide smile.  “Good, you managed to come.  Where is Nathan?”  
  
“Business,” Johanna replies shortly.  “So, we can get on with things.”  
  
“Of course, of course,” Plutarch says good-naturedly as he sinks into the chair opposite Sophie.  “My, it’s been a long day.”  
  
“I’m assuming that this clandestine meeting has something to do with some sort of illegal activity,” Sophie says slowly, downing the rest of her drink.  “So, please, tell me what is going on.”  
  
“Panem is on the verge of a rebellion.”  Plutarch leans toward Sophie, his eyes shining with excitement.  “And, unlike last time, we’re prepared to take down the Capitol.  I’ve been laying the plans for this for years.”  
  
“What’s caused this change?” Sophie asks, already wondering if this has anything to do with the Girl on Fire and those damned berries.  
  
“Katniss.  Holding those berries out is being seen as a moment of rebellion against the Capitol that all of the Districts are latching onto,” he explains.  “We want to use her as the figurehead of this new rebellion, a symbol of the resistance.  The Mockingjay.”  
  
Sophie sits back in her chair, crosses her arms across her chest.  She’s not blind; she’s heard and seen signs of rebellion in several of the districts over the past months.  She knows that even District Four has not been immune to murmurs of discontent over increased quotas.  
  
She wants to instantly sign onto this rebellion, throw everything she has into it.  Except that she has Finnick, Annie, and Mags to think about, not to mention all the people in her district that Snow can use against her.  She has to be sure.  
  
“How are you going to accomplish overthrowing the Capitol?” she asks.  “The Capitol has the superior weaponry, more manpower.  We can’t fight them.”  
  
“We have District Thirteen,” Plutarch tells her with a grin.  
  
“And he isn’t bullshitting you,” Johanna puts in from where she is lounging on the bed.  “I always thought that place was a bombed-out wasteland, but apparently they’re living underground.”  
  
“If I did agree to join the cause, what would you expect me to do?”  Because that is the real question, and it doesn’t matter how selfish it makes her look.  It’s always better to know what’s ahead than to trust authority blindly.  
  
“Watch over Katniss and Peeta.  Their Victory Tour is starting soon, and though I don’t believe they will be sold like the rest of you right now, they still have the pressures of their faked romance.  Snow is furious with that girl, and he’s looking for any excuse to get rid of her.”  Plutarch sighs and rubs a hand against his forehead.  “Not only that, but they’ll be acting as mentors for the Quarter Quell, which is never a pleasant Hunger Games regardless of what’s going on.  It’s going to be even worse now.”  
  
“So we’re basically just babysitting a couple of teenagers,” Johanna says in a bored voice.  “I want to be in on the fighting part of things.”  
  
“One step at a time, Johanna,” Plutarch says with a laugh.  He looks at Sophie.  “Are you with us?”  
  
The answer comes to her readily, but the words die in her mouth.  If she agrees, she is making a decision for Finnick, Annie, and Mags, a choice she is almost sure they will support, but it still feels like she will be no different than Snow and the Capitol.  She knows Finnick, though; she knows how eager he has been at the idea of an uprising in District Four.  Mags will call her a fool if Sophie goes home and explains how she passed up a chance at freedom to stay in relative safety.  Annie will follow Finnick to the ends of the earth, so, honestly, the choice really is Sophie’s to make.  
  
Sophie sighs and shrugs her shoulders.  “If only because I know everyone I care about will jump at this chance.  I’m in.”  
  
Plutarch grins and bounces to his feet.  “Oh, good, I had hoped you would join the cause.  Now, I have another meeting tonight, so you ladies will have to excuse me.”  
  
Johanna rolls her eyes as Plutarch leaves the room, and she props herself up on an elbow.  “So, if you want to wait here, Nate was supposed to meet up with us sometime soon.  I have a half-decent looking guy out there who keeps buying me drinks, and I think I’m going to see if he’s still hanging around the bar.”  
  
“I’ll wait here for Nate,” Sophie says quietly, smiling a little as Johanna shimmies off the bed and tugs her dress a little too low over her breasts.  
  
Johanna winks at Sophie as she saunters past.  “Just don’t wear him out too much.  He is getting on in years, after all.”  
  
Sophie rolls her eyes and waves Johanna away.  When she’s alone in the room, Sophie takes the time to examine her surroundings.  She’s never been back in this part of the club; she doesn’t have sex with random strangers in the Capitol, at least not when she has a choice about it.  
  
It’s a simple set-up, two chairs and a bed, dim lighting to set the mood.  The walls are painted a light gold that glitters oddly in the glow of the lamps.  She smirks a little bit when she notices the black bedspread and sheets.  
  
She hears the door open behind her and she turns to send the intruder away.  The words die in her mouth when her eyes land on Nate.  She moves toward him, a warm smile on her face, but she stops a few feet short of him.  
  
He’s shaking with some sort of nervous energy, his eyes dilated too much, every movement jerky and uncontrolled.  
  
She’s seen him like this before, fresh from an appointment and still high on Ecstasy, but they’ve never been alone; she feels a desperate need to have Johanna back here, acting as a buffer between the two of them.  
  
His mouth curves into a slow smile, and he walks in her direction.  His strides are slower than normal, as though he has to remind himself how to walk.  
  
“Did you have a busy night?” she asks, skirting around him when he drifts closer.  
  
Nate shrugs.  “Same as usual.”  
  
His hair is a tangled mass of wet curls, and he keeps running a hand through them, making it an even bigger mess.  But that means he went home and showered and then decided to seek her out.  This isn’t random, and she finds the thought disturbingly pleasant.  
  
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says in a low voice.  
  
He moves forward, and she takes a few steps back before realizing that he’s effectively herding her against the wall.  His hand lands on her arm, and her back hits the wall with a soft thud, the shock pushing the air out of her lungs.  His other hand moves to the skin her dress’s open back exposes, his fingers trailing along the faint knobs of her spine.  
  
“Is that so?”  Her voice is too breathy, and she swallows against the dryness of her throat.  
  
His right hand moves from her arm to her hip, and he rubs his thumb against the soft silky fabric, his fingers almost grazing the skin of her thigh where the dress stops.  Her whole body strains towards him even as she tries to get herself back under control.  
  
This is utter insanity, but when he finally kisses her, his lips rough and aggressive, she finds that she doesn’t really care.  
  
She slides her arms around his neck and pulls him closer; his fingers dig hard into her hip, so deep that she’ll have bruises there tomorrow.  Moaning, she opens her mouth and lets him slide his tongue against hers as she slips her hands underneath his shirt, rakes her nails down his back.  
  
He’s not coordinated enough to hold her up against the wall, which means they’ll end up on the floor soon if she doesn’t move them somewhere else.  Not that she really cares, however, especially when his hand on her hip starts pushing up her dress, fingers tracing along the line of her underwear.  
  
The arousal coils painfully inside her, burning, consuming, and she fists a hand in his hair, the other working his pants open with surprising speed and stroking his erection through his underwear.  His hips jerk into her, the hand he has pressed against her back wraps around one of her dress straps and pulls, ripping the fabric, the silk shifting against her body.  He slips his fingers inside her panties, brushes his thumb lightly against her clit.  
  
She whines in the back of her throat and pushes forward against his body, twists her hand around his cock gently, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth.  He slips one, two fingers inside her, curls them forward.  
  
His mouth falls to her neck, and he murmurs her name, _Sophie_ , his teeth pressing into her skin, his tongue smoothing over the marks.  Her breath catches, and her mind finally catches up to her raging body.  
  
“Wait, Nate, stop.”  She pushes him back with a firm hand against his chest.  
  
He starts to lean in towards her anyway, so she hits him with the heel of her hand.  She doesn’t know how far he might go, especially with the drugs in his system.  He clenches his fingers into a fist, then releases them, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides.  Fumbling with his pants, he leaves.  
  
She’s shocked by his lack of protest, but now that he’s gone, she sits down on the bed, her shoulders slumping.  Her dress falls down her chest, exposing her left breast.  She fumbles with the torn strap, but she can’t get a good enough grasp on the destroyed material to fix it.  
  
Groaning, she presses her fingers against her temple.  
  
“Having a little trouble?”  
  
Sophie looks up and rolls her eyes at Johanna’s smirk.  “Just a wardrobe malfunction.  What are you doing here?”  
  
“Saw Nate leave with a hard-on.  Figured something must have happened between you two, and when you didn’t come out, I thought something bad had happened,” Johanna replies.  
  
Johanna walks to the bed and leans over Sophie’s shoulder, pulling the torn strap tight and tying the loose ends together.  
  
“Thanks,” Sophie says softly, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.  
  
Johanna shrugs.  “Sure, whatever.  Come on, let’s get you back to your place.”  
  
“Do you want to stay the night?”  
  
“Well, I’m not going back to Nate’s apartment while he’s still high.  No way am I fucking his old ass.”  
  
Sophie laughs a little at that and stands up slowly.  Johanna grabs Sophie’s hand and holds on tight as she leads Sophie back through the club, skirting the crowd on the dance floor.  The cold night raises goosebumps on Sophie’s skin, and she shivers as Johanna hails a taxi and pulls Sophie into the cab after her.  
  
When the taxi starts down the street, Johanna turns her head to study Sophie.  “So, why didn’t you fuck him?  Everyone knows how much you want to.”  
  
Sophie exhales sharply and gazes out at the busy street, the excited hum of the nightlife leaking through the windows.  
  
“It wouldn’t have meant anything,” Sophie says finally.  
  
Johanna doesn’t reply, and when they get to the right building, a sanitized white structure that looks like so many others all over the city, Sophie leads the way up to her apartment, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Johanna is following.  
  
Sophie lets them in and walks in the direction of the wet bar.  “Would you like something to drink?”  
  
The lack of response catches Sophie’s attention, and as she turns back to Johanna, Sophie just catches a blur of movement on the edge of her vision.  Johanna’s hands catch Sophie about her waist, twisting and pulling the fabric of her dress.  Sophie tries to push Johanna away at first, but Johanna presses her up against the wall, a mirror image of what has just happened with Nate.  
  
Giving up the struggle, Sophie places a firm hand on Johanna’s shoulder and pushes her down until she is on her knees in front of Sophie.  Johanna grins as she hikes Sophie’s skirt up over her hips, thumbs dragging down her underwear.  
  
“I can _smell_ how horny you are,” Johanna mutters.  “It’s pathetic.”  
  
Sophie gasps and Johanna wastes no time and shoves two fingers deep inside Sophie, curling them forward, pulling them out and thrusting them back in.  Johanna’s lips trace along Sophie’s hip where Nate’s fingers had dug in earlier, and Sophie arches her back and moans with how good this feels, the fucking without caring.  
  
“This doesn’t mean anything,” Johanna murmurs, her fingers passing over Sophie’s clit.  
  
Sophie just twists her hand in Johanna’s short hair and closes her eyes.

***************

“You can’t do it, Finnick,” Sophie says sharply.  
  
The wind sweeping along the beach blows Sophie’s hair into her eyes, so she can’t see Finnick’s face.  She pushes her hair into a ponytail and fastens it; the weather is only getting worse, and her hair is too long to be free in this sort of wind.  
  
“But my entire family is going to participate.”  Finnick’s eyes flash as he looks at her.  “They’ll think I’m on the Capitol’s side.”  
  
“You’re recognizable in a crowd.  Even if you disguise your face, it’s very likely the Peacekeepers would see you.”  Sophie sighs and pulls her sweater tighter against her body.  “Your family can be punished for your actions.  You can’t be harmed by their decisions.  You’re more valuable to Snow than them.”  
  
“So I’m supposed to let my family protest the Capitol by ransacking the Justice Building, but I have to stay on the sidelines.”  He presses his lips into a thin line as he turns to look out at the ocean.  “Fuck that.”  
  
Sophie sighs and walks a little ahead of him.  Her foot catches on something in the sand, her ankle turns, and she almost falls except that Finnick is suddenly beside her, his arms wrapping around her waist and supporting her weight against his body.  
  
“I think I’m okay,” she says slowly, pushing him away enough so that she can test her strained ankle.  The pain is only a mild twinge.  
  
“Are you sure?”  He tightens his grasp, and she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see it in the darkness.  
  
“Yes, I can walk.”  
  
He releases her waist, but he grabs one of her hands as they start walking again.  She glances out to the ocean, the waves rolling in fast and furious, one after the other.  Finnick’s father and older brother are still at sea on a fishing boat; they should have returned by now, and there is a rumor circulating that the boat has sunk.  
  
It will be the second boat lost if that’s true.  With the higher quotas, the fishermen stay out longer and go further out because it’s almost impossible to catch enough fish for the Capitol’s demands.  In addition to that, boats are being sent back out with inferior repair jobs since the prices of the wood needed has skyrocketed.  
  
She’s surprised that there haven’t been more losses.  By the time summer comes, she expects that more and more boats will either sink or they will lose parts of their crews to the raging ocean.  
  
“They should be back by now,” Finnick says quietly.  
  
“We could wait on the dock if that would make you feel better,” Sophie offers.  “So you can watch them come in.”  
  
“What if they don’t?”  
  
She tightens her fingers around Finnick’s hand.  “They will, Finnick.  Your father has lived through times as bad as this.”  
  
She wishes it doesn’t have to be her standing here with Finnick, but Annie is sick and feverish; normally it would be the three of them waiting for news on the beach, and Sophie misses Annie’s quiet calm that tempers Finnick’s nervous energy.  All Sophie can offer is a hand to hold.  
  
“We still haven’t heard anything from Plutarch about the rebellion,” Finnick says, running his free hand through his copper curls.  “When are we going to be able to do something?”  
  
“Hopefully soon, but we have to wait.”  She leans into his side as a particularly violent gust of wind rushes past them, chilling her straight to the bone.  “Too much is riding on this for us to do anything foolish.”  
  
He frowns.  “I don’t like waiting.  I feel like I’ve spent the past ten years just waiting for…something to happen.  Something to change.”  
  
She turns her eyes away from him to watch the sea as it churns under the dark sky.  If she waded into the ocean now, it would drag her under and swallow her into its depths.  She’s so used to the peace the waves bring that it’s hard to remember the violence that they possess, the way the water can rise up like a sentient creature and destroy those who dare to think it is safe.  
  
A call comes from further up the beach, but the words are lost, caught up in the wind.  All that reaches their ears is a mournful yell; Finnick stiffens at her side, and they turn to see the approaching figure with a flashlight.  The light shows that the figure is Finnick’s younger sister, and the words finally break through the wind’s barrier.  
  
“They’re all right!  They just anchored at the dock, and they’ll be home in a little bit.”  
  
Sophie watches Finnick’s face relax with relief, and he rushes away with his sister to wait for his father and brother to return to the house.  Sophie watches them disappear up the beach, their figures fading against the larger backdrop of Victor Village.  
  
Looking to her own house, she notes the two windows illuminated with light.  Mags will be sitting up, waiting for Sophie to come back with news; but there’s something suffocating about the idea of returning to a house where only a frail old woman is looking for her.  
  
Sophie looks back out at the ocean, gathers her sweater closer to her chest.  The waves frighten her now.  Slowly, she turns and makes her way to her home, the blackness of the night pressing in around her.


	5. another heart breaks

** another heart breaks **   
_“Another head aches, another heart breaks_   
_I’m so much older than I can take_   
_And my affection, well, it comes and goes_   
_I need direction to perfection, no, no, no”_   
**_\- “All These Things That I’ve Done” by The Killers_ **

  
“It looks like Katniss and Peeta aren’t allowed out in the public very much,” Gloss comments as he combs his fingers through Sophie’s hair.  
  
Sophie cranes her neck to glimpse at the muted television.  She’s curled up on her couch, her head in Gloss’s lap, Cashmere sitting on his other side.  Gloss scrapes his nails along Sophie’s scalp, and she nearly purrs with contentment.  
  
“Less riots that way,” Parker remarks from where she’s draped across an armchair.  
  
Cashmere threads her fingers through Sophie’s hair along with her twin’s and says, “If that’s the point, it’s not helping that much.”  
  
“They’re angry,” Sophie replies quietly.  “This has been a long time coming.”  
  
“How much longer do we have until we’re under surveillance again?” Gloss asks.  
  
“Hardison said the systems will be down for forty-five minutes.  We have about fifteen left,” Parker says as she turns her attention back to the television.  
  
“So, are you two joining the revolution?” Sophie asks with a slight smile.  
  
Cashmere shakes her head.  “We have our family to think about and our district.  We can’t let them be punished for our decisions.”  
  
“And what if your side loses?”  Gloss traces a forefinger along Sophie’s cheekbone.  “Things will be worse than they are now.”  
  
Sophie sighs.  “I know.  I understand.”  
  
“But we won’t tell the Capitol anything,” Cashmere puts in, stretching and leaning her head on Gloss’s shoulder.  
  
Parker turns the television’s volume back up, her eyes narrowed with irritation.  Sophie sits up and pushes her loose hair out of her face, watching as Gloss shifts closer to his sister and kisses her.  Sophie looks away from the pair, the affection intimate enough to make her uncomfortable.  
  
“I like that blue dress,” Cashmere says lightly, twirling strands of her golden hair around her fingers.  
  
Parker wrinkles her nose.  “I liked it better when they set her on fire.”  
  
Gloss chuckles.  “I miss the days when they just coated the District Twelve tributes with coal dust.”  
  
“I always knew you were perverted,” Sophie teases.  
  
Cashmere laughs a little.  “Skin sells, darling.”  
  
Parker flinches at the sentiment, and Sophie fights the urge to snap at Cashmere.  Sophie has a protective streak that runs a mile wide when it comes to Parker.  She can sense Parker’s growing restlessness, and Sophie knows Parker is about to disappear for the rest of the day, a habit Sophie still hasn’t gotten used to.  
  
A rift has already started growing between the rebelling victors and those who are playing it safe.  Sophie can see it in the way Cashmere and Gloss shift away from her, anxious to keep themselves separate from any dangerous activity.  It hurts to think that she might soon be an enemy of the people who were once her friends.  But sides have been chosen, and everything has changed.  There is no turning back.

***************

Sophie fidgets under Imanuel’s patient hands.  She has an appointment this evening, the night of the Victor’s Ball, and for whatever reason, Imanuel has chosen to prepare her on his own.  She’s been kept away from any mirrors, so she doesn’t know exactly what he is doing.  What she does know is that he’s rubbed tinted lotion all over her skin and washed, curled, and plaited her hair down her back.  Just the amount of time he spends painting her face is reminiscent of when he was preparing her for her first Opening Ceremonies.  
  
She realizes then how much she misses her prep team’s inane chatter.  
  
“Imanuel, what is going on?”  She watches his face carefully for a tell, some sort of clue.  
  
He presses his lips together and shakes his head.  “You’re ready to get dressed.”  
  
He pulls a brilliant white dress out of a box, the fabric shimmering under the light.  The color is so bright, like the hottest part of a flame.  The dress drapes loosely around her body, clinging only a little bit to her curves, and trepidation rises in her throat, choking her.  Imanuel fastens a gold mockingjay pin to the top of her dress’s bodice.  
  
Sophie turns to the mirror and sees an imitation of the Girl on Fire, Katniss Everdeen.  
  
“Why?”  She forces back tears because they will ruin her make-up, but she wants to scream and destroy the image reflected back at her.  
  
Her skin is darker, her eyes narrowed by thick eyeliner, the bones of her face highlighted to be reminiscent of Katniss’ sharp features.  
  
“President Snow has not offered Katniss to anyone.  However, there was a high demand for replacements to be provided.  I was told to make you resemble Katniss as that is what your client of the evening wants.”  Imanuel bends and slides golden sandals onto her feet.  “And I succeeded.”  
  
Sophie steps away from the mirror and says softly, “This is wrong.”  
  
“It’s really no different than any of your other appointments,” he points out.  
  
She ducks her head and turns away from him, wishing for her normal sleek dresses and high heels.  
  
Imanuel sighs and cups his hand under her chin, guiding her back to face him.  “This is the price of the game we chose.  I’m sorry, Sophie.”  
  
He presses a kiss to her forehead.  She shrugs and slips out of his grasp, not wanting to accept the burden of his guilt.  She wishes the dress would turn into the flame it represents, bright hot light that can consume her from the inside out.

***************

As Sophie walks around the bedroom, she trails her fingers along the wooden wall panels and sips at her glass of wine.  Her client for the evening has disappeared into his bathroom, so she spends the time going back over what she remembers of Katniss Everdeen.  
  
She adjusts her gait to take longer strides and sounds through the way a District Twelve accent changes distinctly with certain words, vowel and consonant phrases that don’t come to her naturally.  The girl this man wants tonight is not the Katniss who won the 74th Hunger Games; he wants the lovesick girl, a girl who is weak and pretty and shy.  
  
 _It’s really no different than any of your other appointments._  
  
Playing a character is nothing new to her; it makes nights like these a little easier to bear if she can pretend to be someone else, someone who walks and talks differently, someone who doesn’t want to vomit when foreign hands touch her body.  She gives these facades names and that separates them even further from her identity as Sophie.  
  
She becomes Charlotte for clients who want to treat her like a romantic conquest; Katherine is for most clients, a run-of-the-mill personality that can morph into something more interesting if needed; and Jenny is for the ones who are more sadistic, who run loving fingers over whips and chains.  Jenny revels in the brutality.  
  
Not one client has ever gotten what they paid for.  They never really have Sophie Devereaux in their beds.  
  
“Do you like the wine?”  
  
She pretends to be startled and turns to face the man, widening her eyes with surprise.  “It’s a little strong.  I’m not used to it.”  
  
He smiles, pleased, and Sophie has to force her hands to keep from balling into fists.  He steps closer to her, cups her cheek in his right hand, and kisses her.  She lets her mouth fumble against his, feigning innocence, and that makes him chuckle.  
  
As he pushes her back to the bed, his fingers pull at her dress, wrinkling and ruining the delicate fabric; he rips the dress a little when he tugs the zipper down.  The dress falls away from her body to the floor, and Sophie wonders as she stands in the dim room if this man only sees the illusion, if he believes that she is Katniss, at least for right now.  
  
She wants to ask him if he knows that she is a human being, and she cannot be interchanged for someone else like an object.  She keeps her mouth shut, though, and watches as he undresses, his body pale and soft in the darkness.  
  
He pushes her back onto the bed and lays on top of her, his cock brushing against the inside of her thighs.  She swallows back her revulsion as he kisses her again; his hands paw at her breasts, and he pushes himself into her with a grunt.  She winces, but he doesn’t even give her a chance to adjust, thrusting deeper.  
  
He tugs at her legs and wraps them around his waist as he establishes a hard and fast rhythm, burying his face in her neck as he groans.  She moans once or twice and tightens her legs around his body, fakes a shudder as though she is about to climax.  As he pounds even harder into her, she fixes her eyes on the ceiling and thinks about how easy it would be to twist his neck and break it.  
  
Jerking into her one last time, he orgasms and collapses on top of her, nuzzling his mouth against her skin.  She lies beneath him and breathes.  
  
When she goes back to her apartment, she finds Finnick waiting for her on the couch.  He takes one look at her, sees the make-up, the ruined dress, and the braid that is starting to come apart.  He goes to her and wraps her up in his arms.  She digs her nails into his back.  
  
She shudders and screams, her mouth opening and her teeth digging into his shoulder.  He pulls her closer as tears slip down her cheeks.

***************

“Finnick says you haven’t been sleeping.”  
  
Sophie snorts and waves Nate’s words away with a careless hand.  “Is that why you’re here?”  
  
“I’m worried about you,” Nate replies.  “What’s going on?”  
  
She taps her foot impatiently and starts pacing the length of the room, unable to stay in one place with the nervous energy coursing through her.  She moves behind the couch so she doesn’t have to look at him, passing her hands along the back of it each time she walks past the couch.  
  
“Sophie.”  His hand grabs onto her arm, and she pauses, heart pounding in her chest.  
  
He tugs at her gently until she reluctantly steps around the couch to face him.  He doesn’t release her, though, pulling a little more insistently at her arm until she sits down beside him.  His hand travels up her arm and rests on the nape of her neck, fingers pressing against her tensed muscles.  
  
“Something bad is going to happen,” she whispers as she leans her head back.  “It scares me.”  
  
He circles his thumb against her skin.  “Why do you think something is going to happen?”  
  
“Because it always does.”  She smiles a little, feeling tears gathering in her eyes.  “Every time I try to sleep, I can only think about the horrible things that could happen to the people I love.  To you.”  
  
“They’re all safe, Soph.”  
  
“For now.”  
  
He sighs.  “That’s all you can do.  If something does happen, we’ll deal with it.  We always do.”  
  
Nodding her head, Sophie breathes deeply and pushes the tears away.  She combs her fingers through his messy curls and curls up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.  Her eyes slip half-closed with her exhaustion, and she silently counts each rise and fall of his chest as he circles an arm around her waist and pulls her a little closer.  
  
“Sleep,” he murmurs.  
  
She reaches for his hand and tangles their fingers together, pulling his arm tighter around her.  She feels warmer, safer, than she has in days.  
  
When she wakes up in the morning, she’s alone in her bed, and he is gone.

***************

Sophie knots her thread and pulls it taut, snipping the remainder away from the fresh stitches she’s just finished in Finnick’s shirt.  Annie sits beside her on the couch, deft fingers repairing the broken knots of the nets off the Odairs’ boat.  The television is on, the special about Katniss’s wedding dresses providing a soft background noise as Mags rocks in her chair, her wrinkled eyes closed.  
  
“I think that one is my favorite,” Annie says quietly, her hands going slack.  
  
Sophie glances up and takes in the details of the dress, heavy silk and pearls.  She nods her head.  
  
“It’s very beautiful,” Sophie replies with a quick smile in Annie’s direction.  
  
Picking up the next shirt, Sophie counts two tears and a hole in the elbow that will need a patch.  She listens to the creak of Mags’ chair to keep from focusing on what is happening to Katniss, a girl not even an adult who is whoring herself out in a different way to the Capitol.  
  
They all play the same games.  
  
Sophie pushes and pulls the needle through the thin fabric of the shirt, the slightest hint of the salty sea air still clinging to the clothing.  The familiar sound of the Capitol anthem catches at her ears, and Sophie snaps her head up as Annie moves to turn up the volume.  
  
President Snow stands beside a simple box on the stage, explaining the history of the Dark Days and the reasons the Hunger Games were created.  Sophie feels Annie’s hand fumble beside her, and Sophie grabs her fingers quickly, squeezing them, wishing Finnick was with them.  
  
It goes on and on, the words more like an annoying buzz in Sophie’s ears because she knows the stories.  She remembers the past Quarter Quell, and she’s seen plenty of footage from the first one as well.  A lump rises in her throat that she can’t swallow, and she feels an impending doom that she can’t explain as Annie clutches her hand more tightly.  
  
“And now we honor our third Quarter Quell.”  
  
The box opens, Snow pulls an envelope with the number 75 on it, and he opens it.  
  
“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”  
  
Annie screams, and she slides to the floor as she claps her hands over her ears.  Sophie stays on the couch, frozen, her eyes still fixed on the television even though she can’t hear anything that is being said, only Annie’s screams.  Sophie blinks.  _Reaped from their existing pool of victors...existing pool, existing pool…pool of victors…the strongest among them…strongest cannot overcome…reaped._  
  
Shaking her head, Sophie slips off the couch and crouches beside Annie, pulling the shaking woman into her arms.  Sophie catches Mags watching from her chair, alert weathered blue eyes creasing with worry, and Sophie looks away first.  
  
“Shh, Annie, it’s all right,” Sophie murmurs as she smoothes her fingers through Annie’s hair.  “It’s going to be all right.  Nothing will happen to you.  I promise.”

***************

Finnick finds her on the beach, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her right hand.  
  
“How is Annie?”  Sophie asks, not looking away from the tide coming in.  
  
Groaning, he sits down beside her.  “She’s sleeping right now.  Mother is staying with her until I get back.  Mags is worried about you.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“She seems to think that you’re going back into the arena.”  
  
“I am.”  Sophie holds the paper out to him.  “You should read this.”  
  
Finnick takes the paper and frowns.  “What does this list mean?”  
  
“Snow said tonight that the tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”  
  
“And some districts only have one male or female victor.”  
  
She nods her head.  “These are the people we know will be reaped.”  
  
He reads the list again then balls it up, throwing it out into the ocean.  “Nate?  That’s why you’re determined to be a tribute?  You’ll throw your life away for him?”  
  
“I was also thinking about the fact that I’m the only female victor from District Four who will have a chance in the arena,” she says calmly.  “Or do you want them to take Annie away instead?”  
  
“We don’t know who will be picked.”  
  
“I’m going to volunteer.”  
  
“Sophie…”  
  
“No, Finnick, you don’t understand.  Our whole little rebellion revolves around Katniss.  She doesn’t have a choice, she will be going into the arena.  She needs allies to keep her alive.  I can help do that.”  Sophie shakes her head and shrugs.  “And I can’t let Nate go into that arena without me.  I just…I can’t, Finnick.”  
  
Finnick sighs, turning to look at her; his eyes are world-weary, his shoulders slumped with the weight of more burdens than he should have had to bear in such a short time.  Wrapping his left arm around her waist, he leans his head onto her shoulder and sinks his fingers into the sand, sketching a small picture.  
  
Sophie examines the drawing and asks, “Is that supposed to be a sunrise or a sunset?”  
  
“I think it depends on where you are in life.”  
  
A wave sweeps in over their feet, pulling and shifting the sand, and when the water retreats, the clear lines of the pictures are gone.  It’s now only a muddled mess, and all it looks like to Sophie is the end of the world.

***************

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Sophie remarks with a slight smile.  “I thought you would be busy training for the games.”  
  
Nate shrugs, a smirk playing with his lips.  “Duty calls.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow at that but turns to the wet bar instead of responding.  “Do you want a drink?”  
  
“I’m not allowed to drink anymore,” he says with a long-suffering sigh.  “I can’t afford to go through withdrawal in the arena.”  
  
Laughing, she walks over to him, crossing her arms across her chest; with only the small space between them, she suddenly feels shyer, and she starts to retreat, to find something to do with her restless hands, but he reaches out, takes her hand.  
  
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her, and then he kisses her.  She gasps against his lips as he pulls her closer.  This time is different from any other time before.  This time, his hands rest warm and heavy on her waist, he moves his mouth against hers with deliberate want, soft but insistent.  She sinks into him, twining her arms around his neck, moaning when his tongue presses past her lips, his teeth catching lightly on her bottom lip.  
  
She breaks the kiss and tilts her head back to look at him.  “You’re a bastard for waiting until now.”  
  
Smiling just a little bit, Nate threads his fingers into her loose curls and presses his lips back to hers.  She slips her hands under his shirt and presses them against the warm skin of his back, sighs when his tongue flicks against the roof of her mouth, when his free hand grips her hip tightly.  
  
Something like impatience burns underneath her skin, so she grabs his hand and laughs when he groans with disappointment.  Sophie leads him to her bedroom, turning to face him, pulling at her dress nervously.  She looks up and sees the lust darkening his eyes; he crosses the room to her with long strides, pulls her into his arms.  
  
She kisses him first this time, curling a fist in his hair, pulling slightly as he pushes her back onto the bed.

***************

“Special delivery from the Capitol,” Jonah announces, handing a large box to Sophie from off the train.  
  
Sophie smiles.  “Don’t you need to inspect it?  I don’t want you to get in trouble for not following the rules.”  
  
Jonah tugs at his white uniform and sighs.  “They never used to care.  I guess I can see what it is.”  
  
He takes the package and opens it easily, whistling when he pulls the lid back and sees the knives nestled inside.  A folded piece of paper rests on top of the weapons that he picks up and reads out loud.  
  
“For Head Peacekeeper Ludlow.  The enclosed knives are specially issued by the Training Center in the Capitol for the use of Sophie Devereaux under supervision by Peacekeepers assigned to District Four.  These knives are to be used for training only, and if they should at any time be employed to disrupt the peace of District Four by anyone, Sophie Devereaux will be considered the responsible party.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow, he hands the paper to Sophie and pulls a knife from the box, running his forefinger along the edge and pressing it against the point.  
  
“Not very sharp, are they?” she asks as she tucks the paper into her pocket.  
  
“I assume that’s to keep you from harming anyone while you…practice.”  He places the knife carefully back into the box and closes it.  “Is the Capitol encouraging all of the victors to train for the upcoming games?”  
  
“I don’t know.  I made a phone call, asked for a set of knives to practice throwing, and here they are.”  
  
“Well, things seem to be in order here.”  Jonah looks around at the people gathering at the train to watch the Peacekeepers unload supplies that will be sold in the market later that day.  “I suggest you train on the beach so you don’t bother any citizens.”  
  
“Will you be providing Peacekeepers for our supervision?”  
  
“I think it might be best to leave all of you to your own devices.  I see no reason to give you extra targets for those knives.”  
  
Sophie laughs and shakes her head.  “Believe me, if we were going to do something, it wouldn’t be with dull knives and nets.”  
  
His brow furrows, and Jonah glances at the throng of people behind them.  “Just be careful.”  
  
A Peacekeeper runs up to them.  “Peacekeeper Ludlow, sir, we need instructions on what to do with the new weaponry sent for our defenses.”  
  
Sophie’s smile tightens as she nods her head and leaves, holding her box tightly as she weaves her way through the crowd back to her home.  People mutter as she slips past them, but she keeps her head held high.  They disapprove of her friendliness with the Peacekeepers; actually, they disapprove of almost everything she does.  
  
She’s given up hope that they’ll forgive her for all the things she has done.

***************

Sophie sips her wine and leans back against her kitchen counter, watching as Eliot stirs something in a pot on the stove.  Nate moves to stand beside her, curling his fingers over the curve of her hip.  
  
Eliot glances back at them and raises his eyebrows.  “You staking out your territory or something?  Because it’s about damn time.”  
  
Blushing, Sophie smiles and scoots closer to Nate as Parker and Hardison file into the kitchen.  
  
“Smells good,” Parker says, leaning around Sophie to snag a handful of grapes.  
  
“What’s going on here?” Hardison asks as he looks Nate and Sophie up and down.  
  
“Nate and Sophie are having sex,” Eliot tells him, turning back to the stove.  
  
“About damn time.”  Hardison nods his head and slaps Nate’s shoulder.  “Now, when we going to eat?”  
  
Eliot slaps Parker’s curious hands away from the stove.  “In about fifteen minutes.  Stay out of my way.”  
  
“Did you make the arrangements?” Sophie asks Hardison.  
  
He rubs the back of his neck.  “Yeah, we’ve got about thirty minutes to talk.”  
  
“How do you do that anyway?” Nate says as he takes a glass of water Eliot offers him.  
  
“Well, they monitor our apartments through microphones in the walls.  But, they run all the stuff they get through computers that run off of algorithms that look for specific words and phrases that are treasonous.  So, since they don’t notice short periods of silence…”  
  
Sophie stops listening about that point and runs her fingers along the back of Nate’s neck, rubbing her thumb right underneath his hairline.  Eliot notices and smirks, but Nate leans back into her touch.  
  
“Anyway, there are no working microphones in here for the next twenty-five minutes,” Hardison finishes up.  
  
“So do we have any new messages from Plutarch?” Eliot asks.  
  
“Just to keep our heads down and train for the Quarter Quell,” Sophie says quietly, taking a large swallow of wine.  “There’s nothing we can do for now, as the plan is to break Katniss out of the arena during the games.”  
  
“We have a plan for that?” Parker pipes up.  
  
Hardison raises his hand a little bit.  “Um, yeah, Beetee and I are working something out.  Plutarch has promised the supplies we need will be in the Cornucopia.”  
  
Parker frowns and looks back at Hardison.  “How are we communicating with him?  He can’t always have secret meetings in the backs of clubs.”  
  
“Effie is helping pass information along.  She knows Plutarch very well, so she has reason to speak with him on a regular basis,” Nate replies.  
  
“And she gives the messages to Tara and Haymitch,” Sophie puts in.  
  
“Food’s ready,” Eliot announces.  
  
Nate, Parker, and Hardison file into Sophie’s small dining room while Sophie slides off the counter to help Eliot plate the food.  
  
Once they’re alone, Eliot looks at Sophie.  “Are you sure this thing with Nate is a good idea?”  
  
Sophie pushes her hair out of her face and spoons out the stewed vegetables.  “It’s not like we’re getting married, Eliot.”  
  
“I just don’t want him to hurt you.”  
  
“I’m an adult.  I think I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Just…be careful, Soph.  What we’re doing is dangerous.”  
  
“And we might not all make it through this.”  Sophie sighs.  “I know all that, Eliot.  But I’m happy right now.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Eliot gives her a small smile as he gives her two full plates, balancing the remaining three in his hands.  They enter the dining room to Parker’s happy shout of “Food!”, and Sophie lets a grin steal onto her face. 

***************

“You never talk about your family,” Nate says quietly.  
  
His fingers fumble down Sophie’s spine, and she lifts her head from where it was resting on his shoulder.  
  
“Because you always talk about yours?”  She pulls his hand up and over her hips, snuggling into his side.  
  
He brushes his lips against her forehead and replies, “Fair point.”  
  
Smiling, she traces her fingers across his chest, pressing her palm over his heart.  She misses him when she’s back in District Four, she’s become used to having him beside her at night, and there might be something wrong with that.  
  
He covers her hand with his.  She doesn’t say _it could have been this way for years_ , because this is what they have now.  So she finds other words to say.  
  
“I loved my parents,” she starts in a soft voice, not looking at Nate.  “And I knew they loved me.  After my father die…killed himself, I had this hole in my heart.  I was so _angry_ that he had abandoned us.  I hated him then.”  
  
“Did you ever forgive him?”  
  
“When I was older and found out what he had endured.  When I became a victor.”  
  
“But you’ve never tried to take your own life,” Nate points out gently.  
  
“No.”  She frowns.  “My father was only a man, though.  Everyone has a point where the pain becomes too much.  I understood that he had been broken.  And he’s my father.  I couldn’t hate him forever.”  
  
“You could have,” Nate murmurs.  
  
Sophie props herself up on her elbow.  “Are you saying that you hate your father?”  
  
He raises an eyebrow as he says, “Do you always have to be so perceptive?”  
  
“It’s my curse, darling.”  She kisses his cheek and smoothes down his unruly curls.  “Now I’m curious, though, so you have to tell me about him.”  
  
“Jimmy Ford was a drunk.  He never liked me and I never liked him.”  
  
“That’s not all there is to the story, Nate.”  
  
“Maybe that’s all I want to remember.”  
  
She groans and flops back onto the bed.  “You’re impossible.”  
  
Pulling her back into his side, Nate sighs and says, “Fine.  My dad…he liked to bend the rules.  He started an illegal trade between the Peacekeepers and citizens of the district.  It mostly involved whiskey made by the power plant workers that was sold to the Peacekeepers.  And he also made arrangements between the poor women who couldn’t support their families and the Peacekeepers.  He called himself a ‘fixer.’  A lot of people hated him.”  
  
“He sold whiskey and women to the Peacekeepers?  Why did they need your father?” Sophie asks as she takes Nate’s hand in hers, twining their fingers together.  
  
“He was the one who convinced the Peacekeepers to turn a completely blind eye to the people making the whiskey and to also get them better supplies to make the liquor.  So he got an extra cut from the citizens on that end.  The Peacekeepers paid him to bring women to them and to help the women get rid of any unwanted children.”  
  
“Was your father the only one who did this?”  
  
“No, there are several men who do the same thing.”  Nate smiles wryly.  “After I became a victor, though, the Capitol couldn’t ignore what my father was doing for very long.  They strung him up a year after Sam was born.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything, just kisses him gently and lays her head back on his shoulder, placing her hand back on his chest.  The beat of his heart thrums against her skin as he holds her close to him.  
  
“I just wanted him to be proud of me.”  
  
She barely catches his words.  Tilting her head up, she kisses his jaw.  
  
“You were his son.”  
  
Nate moves then, his hands wrapping around her waist and his body pushing her into the bed as he buries his head in the crook of her neck.  Slipping her arms around his neck, she arches up into him, open, needy, and _wanted._

***************

“Do you ever think about the future?”  
  
Nate’s fingers trace along her ribs and she hums under her breath, arching her back into him.  
  
“What do you mean?” she asks quietly.  
  
“Well, not the future, exactly.  What your life would be like if you were free.”  
  
Pressing his lips to her stomach, he settles in between her legs, fingers splaying across her hips.  His breath whispers across her skin, and she wonders at what point in time he came to know her so well.  
  
“I suppose I would be happy.  Maybe I would even have a family.”  
  
“Do you ever see me there with you?”  
  
She starts to sit up so she can look at him, figure out what is going on his head, but he slides one finger, then another inside of her while his tongue finds her clit, and all she can do is gasp out his name.  Her fingers slip into his hair, pull just a little.  
  
“Sometimes,” she murmurs when she feels like she can breathe again.  She smiles to let him know she’s teasing.  “When you’re not being irritating.”  
  
He pauses and lifts his head, the lines on his face softening as he says, “Sometimes I think about it, too.”

***************

Sophie’s muscles burn as she races across the sand after Finnick towards Annie.  When Sophie passes Annie, she pulls up short and wheels around, panting.  
  
“Both under three minutes,” Annie announces as she fiddles with the watch in her hands.  “Where’s Marcus?”  
  
“Starke’s busy eating our dust,” Finnick tells her with a grin.  
  
Sophie shakes her head.  “I thought you were going to leave me completely behind as well.  My whole body hurts.”  
  
“Well, today’s your last day.  You have tomorrow off and then the Reaping,” Finnick replies.  
  
Annie’s smile fades at the mention of the Reaping, and Sophie quickly steps in to keep her from breaking down.  
  
“Not that you have anything to worry about, Annie.  We’re going to keep you safe.”  
  
Finnick pulls Annie into his arms and then motions to something behind them.  “Hey, look, there’s Starke now, huffing and puffing his way here.”  
  
Sophie turns to watch, calling out teasingly, “You’re going to have to do better, Marcus!  The goal is to be a _moving_ target.”  
  
Marcus pulls up short and stumbles the rest of the way to them.  “I’m not as young as I used to be.”  
  
“Eh, don’t worry about it.  Luckily the arena will be full of us old geezers,” Finnick says, slapping Marcus on the back.  
  
Laughing, Sophie turns to the targets Annie has set up.  She pulls out a small knife, tests its weight in her hand before throwing it at the small X.  It hits in the dead center.  She throws three more knives in quick succession at the next target, hitting the X each time.  
  
“Looks like you’re ready,” Finnick remarks as he comes up behind her.  
  
Sophie shrugs.  “I should be.”  
  
“Are you sure you still want to do this?”  
  
Looking over her shoulder at a laughing Annie, Sophie nods her head.  “I’m sure.”  
  
Finnick presses a quick kiss to the side of her head and takes off across the sand, sweeping Annie up into his arms and carrying her out into the ocean.  Annie throws her head back and laughs.  Sophie’s smile tightens, and she turns back to the targets and sends her last knife flying.

***************

Mags pulls a brush through Sophie’s hair and says, “I could go.  You’re young.  Still have future.”  
  
The damage done by Mags’ stroke means she no longer talks in complete sentences, but after years of living together, Sophie has no trouble deciphering the garbled speech.  Leaning back, Sophie rests her head against Mags’ legs and sighs.  
  
“I need to be there to help Finnick.  You know that,” Sophie replies softly.  
  
“Promised would take care of you.  Stay here.”  
  
“Please don’t do this, Mags.”  
  
Mags combs her gnarled fingers through Sophie’s hair, running her short fingernails along Sophie’s scalp.  Sophie hums under her breath and closes her eyes, ignoring the tears gathering in her eyes.  
  
“It’ll be over soon,” Sophie whispers.  
  
Leaning down, Mags presses a kiss to the top of Sophie’s head.  “Never give up.”


	6. black the sky

  
** Chapter Six:  black the sky **   
_“Black the sky, weapons fly_   
_Lay them waste for your race_   
_Black the sky, weapons fly_   
_Lay them waste for your race.”_   
_\- “.3” by Porcupine Tree_

  
All through dinner, a somber silence hangs over them.  Tara ignores her full plate and gulps down glass after glass of wine, opening her mouth occasionally as if to say something and then snapping it shut, going back to furiously chewing on the inside of her cheek.  Mags keeps shoveling food onto Sophie and Finnick’s plates while Marcus fiddles with his silverware.  
  
Finnick finally snaps.  “Damn it, Mags, I’m not hungry!”  
  
Sophie stiffens her spine, staring down at the table, pretending that she can’t see the tears spilling down Finnick’s cheeks.  Leaving Annie behind in District Four is the right decision because she will be safer there, but Sophie knows that this just makes everything even harder for Finnick.  She curls her fingers into fists, doesn’t reach out to comfort him like she normally would.  
  
Tara clears her throat.  “I think it’s time for the recap of the Reapings.”  
  
As the others get up from the table, Sophie turns to Finnick, grabbing his arm to hold him back.  
  
“Finnick?” she asks quietly.  
  
He ducks his head and gives it a small shake.  “I’ll apologize later.”  
  
“That wasn’t…”  
  
“I know.  But…I can’t talk about it right now.”  
  
She studies his face and presses her lips together, finally replying, “All right.”  
  
Watching the coverage of the Reapings is harder than Sophie thought it would be.  So many of her friends are chosen, and this is the first time that she’s fully realized that in only a few days, she will be forced to fight against them.  
  
Tara keeps a tight grip on Sophie’s hand the whole time; her fingers dig deep into Sophie’s palm as the recap from District Four plays across the screen.  The commentators talk about Annie, recalling the incident in the 70th Hunger Games that caused her to go insane.  Then they move on to discussing Sophie volunteering in Annie’s place, talking about Sophie’s father and Sophie’s own history with the games.  The real focus, however, is on how tragic it is that Finnick and Sophie, two of the Capitol’s most favored victors, will be entering the arena together.  
  
Mags mutes the television.  “Don’t know anything.”  
  
Marcus just raises his eyebrows and continues with his list of the victors who are reaped.  They’ll look through the old tapes later.  It’s not actually necessary as Sophie and Finnick already know a great deal about all of their fellow tributes; but it looks like no one will be sleeping tonight.  
  
When the recap is over, Tara switches the television off and starts rifling through the box filled with tapes of the old games.  Sophie watches absentmindedly, going over the names in her own mind.  
  
Cashmere and Gloss, always a pair, even now.  Enobaria, with her predator-like teeth and her wicked sense of humor.  Brutus whom Sophie has never liked, but he’s so brainwashed by the Capitol and District Two’s doctrine that he doesn’t even know how he’s being used.  Wiress, brilliant and slightly insane, and it breaks Sophie’s heart that Hardison has volunteered for Beetee, Hardison who is so sweet and wildly intelligent and so young.  
  
Nate’s partner from District Five is Cora, a pretty girl with fiery hair, and Sophie is just grateful that Maggie wasn’t the one who was reaped.  Ophelia and Sage, both addicted to morphling and so fragile, like small children.  Johanna, the only female victor for District Seven, who is known for her sarcasm and amazing body, and very few people know how broken she is; Blight who is older than most of them and so Sophie doesn’t know him well.  
  
Cecelia who acts like a mother hen and has had to leave behind her children to enter the arena again; Woof who is near the end of his life with a mind ravaged by old age.  Hurley who is a good-natured bumbling man the Capitol has mostly ignored; Peggy who is one of Parker’s few friends.  Eliot who is strong and gentle and who has already lost so much to the Capitol; Mikel who is deadly but takes pride in her district.  Chaff who is Haymitch’s best friend, who tells bad jokes and drinks too much; Parker who can move silently as a ghost, who steals without even thinking.  
  
Tara starts the tapes, starting with Gloss.  Sophie pretends to watch, but she can’t focus on the clips from the games, the blood and the brutality.  The whole room feels airless, suffocating, and Sophie finally bolts up from the couch with a mumbled excuse.  
  
Running down the length of the train, she bursts through the door of the last car and clings to the steel railing.  Stars flash past, cool air blowing across her cheeks.  She blinks and chokes on a sob.  
  
“Sophie?”  Tara’s light footsteps come closer, and she steps up beside Sophie.  “Are you all right?”  
  
“I’m probably going to die,” Sophie says flatly.  “And I’m going to kill someone who is my friend eventually.”  
  
Tara reaches over and lays her hand over Sophie’s.  Words bubble up Sophie’s throat because there is so much that should be said, stories that shouldn’t be forgotten, but she can’t speak.  She can only listen to the hum of the train as it moves closer to the Capitol.  
  
“This shouldn’t be happening.  Not to you.  Not to any of you, really.”  
  
“No, it shouldn’t,” Sophie replies as she turns her head to look at Tara.  “But at least all of us don’t really want to live.  Not the way we should.”  
  
When Tara doesn’t respond, Sophie shifts her gaze back to the sky and tightens her fingers just a little bit around the railing.  She knows in the back of her mind that there’s a good chance that she won’t make it through the arena; but there’s an even better chance that Tara will die because of this rebellion.  
  
She finds a star and makes a wish, _yearns_ for the impossible.  
  
“I love you,” Tara murmurs.  
  
Sophie closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath because this is not new, she’s known for years and has used Tara anyway, and maybe she should have tried to be a better person.  She can lie; it won’t matter by the end of the week.  
  
Smiling wearily, Sophie whispers, “I know.”

***************

“Are you serious?” Sophie asks as she stares at her reflection.  
  
Imanuel frowns as he steps up behind her.  “I know it’s not something I would normally give you to wear, especially in public, but I was… _informed_ that it would be in my best interests to show as much of you off as possible.”  
  
“You might as well have just slapped some gold paint on me,” she mutters.  
  
The gold netting that makes up her costume is wrapped tightly around her body, layered just enough over her breasts and groin to keep those from public view.  Tally slips a golden pin into her hair, securing some loose curls away from her face.  
  
“You look spectacular,” Benjy says even though he looks absolutely miserable.  “Like a goddess.”  
  
Sophie sighs and turns around to face her prep team.  Aria wipes the tears off her cheeks and manages to summon a tremulous smile, Tally keeps stabbing his thigh with a nail file, Benjy refuses to even look at Sophie, and Imanuel can’t stop adjusting Sophie’s costume, his mouth set into a thin line.  
  
“Cheer up.  It’s not like I’m dead.”  Sophie smirks.  “Well, not yet, anyway.”  
  
Aria claps a hand over her mouth and runs from the room, sobbing, as Imanuel shakes his head.  Finnick walks in and raises an eyebrow at Sophie.  
  
“What was all that about?” he asks slowly.  
  
Sophie slumps her shoulders and replies, “It seems I’ve left my ability to feel compassion in District Four.  Come on, we should go.”  
  
As they walk to the elevator, Finnick pulls at the gold netting wrapped around his hips.  “I keep feeling like this is going to fall off.”  
  
“I think that’s the point.  You know the crowds will just go _wild_ if they got a chance to see the great Finnick Odair naked,” Sophie teases.  
  
Looking her up and down, he remarks, “It looks like you’re in the same boat.”  
  
The elevator doors open, and they step inside to find Johanna, Eliot, and Parker gathered inside.  
  
“Don’t even ask,” Eliot growls as Sophie opens her mouth to say something about the flaming belt around his waist.  
  
Johanna snorts.  “You look like you’re cooking yourself.”  
  
“Yeah, Mason?  No squirrels this year in that headdress?” Eliot shoots back.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Parker examines Sophie’s costume.  “You look like you’re naked.”  
  
“That’s the idea.”  Sophie sighs as the elevator hits the ground floor.  
  
Finnick nudges her arm with his elbow.  “Hey, look, I snatched some sugar cubes for the horses.”  
  
“And?”  Sophie raises an eyebrow.  
  
“You don’t want any?”  
  
“I think when I was a tribute, one of my chariot’s horses tried to bite me.”  
  
“So your amazing charm doesn’t work on animals?”  
  
“I like to think he was the exception,” Sophie says breezily.  She pats Finnick’s shoulder.  “Have fun with your little friends.”  
  
“Going to talk to Nate?”  Finnick’s smile fades to a frown.  
  
“You know, I really don’t understand why you don’t like him,” she says, her voice sharp.  
  
Finnick shrugs.  “I think you could do better.  Find someone less damaged.”  
  
Shaking her head, she murmurs, “That’s rich, coming from you.”  
  
She doesn’t even wait for his reply, just walks away to the chariot for District Five.  She’ll apologize later even if she was only pointing out the truth. As she walks up to the chariot, Nate turns around, smirking when he sees her costume.  
  
“See something you like?” she murmurs, placing a hand on his arm and leaning in close.  
  
“Pretty much everything,” he replies.  
  
“There are a lot of rumors floating around the Capitol about us,” she says quietly.  
  
His eyes flicker around the enclosed area.  “What do you want to do about that?”  
  
“I don’t think there’s anything we _can_ do about rumors, Nate.  I just thought you should know.”  
  
“I did know because Johanna started half of them.  She explained that it could only help our chances of survival.”  He chuckles and shakes his head.  “Actually, she said I was the one who really needed the extra help.  Since I’m so old and unappealing.”  
  
Nate brushes a kiss against her cheek, and Sophie grins up at him.  “I think we’re both too old for this, Nate.”  
  
“Perhaps,” he murmurs.  
  
The music starts, which means she needs to go back to her chariot.  Nate pulls her close and kisses her gently, careful not to ruin her hair.  
  
When he steps back, she asks, “What was that for?”  
  
He swipes his thumb along her cheekbone and smiles just a little.  “Luck.”  
  
She laughs at that, the sound cracked and bitter as it slips from her mouth, and she walks to where Finnick is waiting with their chariot.  
  
He helps her into the chariot as he says, “I talked to Katniss.”  
  
“And?”  Sophie pastes a smile on her face as the procession starts.  
  
“I don’t think she likes me very much.”

***************

She hears Nate come up behind her as she tucks several knives into her belt.  
  
“You didn’t wake me up before you left this morning,” Sophie says quietly, not turning to face him.  
  
“It was early.  I thought you would want to sleep.”  He tugs on the edge of her tunic and gives her a quick smile.  
  
“Just…don’t do it again?  Please?”  She keeps her voice quiet to control the desperation that slips around the words.  The nightmares are getting worse as the clock keeps ticking away the time they have left.  
  
“All right.”  
  
She pecks him on the cheek as she walks to the moving boards that are shaped like people with targets painted on.  The trainer in charge of the station pushes a button to start a random rotation.  Hefting a knife in her hand, Sophie eyes the closest board and throws a knife directly where the heart should be.  
  
“Have you talked to Peeta or Katniss yet?”  
  
Nate’s question distracts her, and the blade she’s just thrown sticks inches to the left of where she was aiming.  
  
Sophie huffs and selects another knife.  “No.  I was thinking about trying Peeta first.  I don’t think Katniss will like me.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  Nate moves closer to her until she can feel his breath on her neck.  
  
Whipping a knife out of her belt, she hurls it into the last target, her hand snapping up behind her to grab a handful of Nate’s hair.  She whirls around into him and smirks, the last knife in her free hand.  
  
He looks at her, his face a blank canvas.  “Is this supposed to impress me?”  
  
She lets him go and steps back, shaking her head as she says, “Finnick talked to Katniss last night, and apparently it didn’t go well.  I don’t want to alienate her.  Besides, Peeta is the more talkative one, and I think he’s pretty friendly.  My chances are better with him.”  
  
“Do you want to try him now?”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Well, Katniss is busy tying knots, and he’s alone at the camouflage station.  Thought we could try a two-pronged attack.”  
  
Sophie shrugs and tosses the knife to the side, smiling when Nate waits for her so they can walk side by side.  
  
“What exactly was the point of that show back there?” Nate asks, raising his eyebrows.  
  
“Just for the Gamemakers watching.  I couldn’t let them think I’m not a serious contender.”  She glances in the direction of where the Gamemakers are watching from behind a force field and sees them carrying on a heated conversation.  “Looks like it worked.”  
  
“You could warn me next time.”  
  
“Yes, but then your reactions wouldn’t be…genuine.”  She flashes a predatory smile at Nate and sidles up to Peeta.  “That’s impressive.”  
  
Peeta looks up, startled, and stares at her and Nate with wide blue eyes.  “Oh, I didn’t hear you walk up.”  
  
Nate frowns as he examines the foliage Peeta has painted onto one of his arms.  “You really did this with plants and berries?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s just knowing how to mix them together.”  Peeta reaches for his paint brush and seeming to realize that Nate and Sophie aren’t going to leave him alone, blushes slightly.  “Um, I can show you?”  
  
“That would be wonderful,” Sophie replies graciously as she beams at Peeta.  
  
Nate just nods his head, and Peeta pulls a handful of dark blue berries from across the table.  He presses his palm against them; juice leaks out and spreads in a small pool.  
  
As Peeta grabs another group of berries, Sophie says, “Have you gotten to know anyone here yet?”  
  
“Johanna’s talked to me some.  And that guy from District Three, um, Harden, I think.”  
  
“Hardison,” Nate corrects instantly.  “What did you think of them?”  
  
Peeta’s brow furrows as he concentrates on his work.  “Hardison is pretty nice.  I didn’t really understand most of what he said, though.  And Johanna is…different.”  
  
“I would have gone with ‘terrifying’,” Sophie mutters.  
  
Laughing, Peeta glances up at Sophie then bows his head back over where he is painting a long strip of brown up his arm.  “I guess that would work, too.  Do all of you know each other?”  
  
“Most of us do,” Nate replies, his eyes focused on Peeta’s hands.  “Johanna and Sophie are actually very good friends.”  
  
“But, she just said…”  
  
“Just because I’m her friend doesn’t mean I don’t know how she comes off to other people,” Sophie says quickly, her lips quirking upward at the bewildered expression on Peeta’s face.  It’s a nice change to not be completely surrounded by people who know more about her than they should.  “Even now, I still find her frightening at times.”  
  
Peeta nods his head slowly.  “It’s just a little weird to see everyone here acting like friends.  It’s actually kind of intimidating because Katniss and I are the only ones who don’t really belong.”  
  
“You’re victors now.  You belong whether you want to or not,” Nate says with a wry smile, twirling a leaf in his fingers.  
  
Peeta starts to reply, but one of the trainers makes the announcement for lunchtime.  Sighing, Peeta puts down his brush and starts towards the dining area, and Sophie motions to Nate to stick close to him.  
  
Peeta glances over at Sophie.  “You know, if you want to make an alliance, there are easier ways to do that than by constantly following me.  Besides, I would have to talk to Katniss first.”  
  
“Oh, we’re just walking with you to lunch,” Sophie replies with a slight laugh.  “If we want to make an alliance with you or Katniss, we’ll let you know.”  
  
Peeta studies her face for a moment and then nods his head.  Nate raises his eyebrows behind Peeta’s back, and Sophie shrugs in response as they enter the dining area to find Parker, Hardison, and Eliot are busy pulling tables together.  
  
Sophie pats Peeta on the back and smiles.  “See, we’re all friends here.”

***************

“Why is this taking so long?” Johanna complains.  
  
Sophie glances at the clock again and sees that it’s now one o’clock.  They’ve all been finished with lunch for thirty minutes now, and even though they’re supposed to have started the sessions with the Gamemakers, no one has been summoned yet.  
  
“Maybe they’re trying to finish eating their pig before Katniss can ruin it,” Finnick says as he combs his fingers through Sophie’s hair.  
  
Katniss snaps her head up.  “Where’d you hear about that?”  
  
“During last year’s games.  You know, the mentors have to entertain themselves somehow while all of you are sleeping,” Finnick replies.  
  
Sophie shifts her head in Finnick’s lap and sighs.  “It’s unfortunate that there’s a force field protecting them now.”  
  
“Well, what are we supposed to do for them?” Parker asks, frowning.  “They’ve already seen all of us do everything.”  
  
“I was just going to chuck stuff at them and watch it bounce off the force field,” Johanna says with a lazy smile.  
  
Sophie rolls her eyes.  “You should do a striptease.  That would be much more impressive.”  
  
That gets a chuckle from even Katniss, and Sophie is more than a little satisfied that Katniss seems to be softening around all of them.  
  
“I know you’d love to be there to watch.”  Johanna winks at Sophie and makes a lewd gesture with her hands.  
  
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Sophie shoots back.  
  
“Or done,” Finnick mutters, and Sophie pinches his leg in response.  
  
“Behave,” Eliot growls as he glares at Finnick and Johanna then at Parker who has started to braid his long hair.  
  
Nate walks over from where he had been talking to Cora, his district partner, and he shakes his head as he sits down at the table that Finnick and Sophie are sprawled on top of.  
  
“Is there any good reason for the Gamemakers to make us wait this long?” Nate asks.  
  
“No, but of course there’s not a good reason for the games to still exist, either,” Eliot replies, scowling.  
  
Sophie sits up and says quietly, “Be careful what you say.  They can still kill us in the arena.”  
  
Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Sophie turns to face Nate, placing her feet firmly on either side of his chair.  
  
“Nervous?”  His right hand slips down to encircle her ankle, holding her in place.  
  
She smiles.  “Of course not.  This isn’t anything I haven’t done before.”  
  
He doesn’t respond, and when Gloss’s name is called, everyone goes quiet.  This is the beginning of the end.  Sophie and Nate don’t speak as they watch each victor leave the dining area as they are called.  When Sophie hears her name, she slips off the table and pushes her hair back into a ponytail.  She starts to leave, but Nate catches at the tips of her fingers, squeezes them tightly.  
  
He doesn’t say anything, and she slips her hand from his grasp, squaring her shoulders and striding away.

***************

Sophie blinks the stars out of her vision from the blinding lights as the crowd’s cheers die down and Caesar Flickerman helps her sit in the chair opposite his.  
  
“Now, Sophie, can I say how ravishing you look tonight?” Caesar asks with a broad grin, turning to the audience.  
  
They all start screaming again, and Sophie is pretty sure she hears several declarations of love amidst the chaos.  She smiles slightly in acknowledgement of the adoration.  
  
“Well, the credit for that has to go to my stylist, Imanuel,” Sophie replies as soon as it is quiet enough for her to speak.  
  
Even she has to admit that Imanuel has outdone himself tonight.  Her dress is really layers and layers of sheer silk, all shades of blue, wrapped around her body, flowing across her skin like water.  _An avenging goddess from the sea_ is what he whispered into her ear when he finished.  
  
Caesar smiles and leans closer as he says, “Sophie, I’m sure you know that there has been a lot of talk about you volunteering in Miss Cresta’s place.  Given your history with the games, would you like to tell us why you made your decision?”  
  
Sophie gives him a sharp look because Caesar is certainly not a fool, but his expression is only earnest, and she realizes that this might be Caesar’s way of allowing dissent to be expressed about what is happening here.  A rush of gratitude goes through her because this is exactly the opening she needs for what she wants to say.  
  
“I couldn’t bear the idea of watching Annie go back into the arena.  I’ve worked so hard with Finnick to protect her, and I couldn’t stand by and let her walk to her death.”  Sophie takes a deep breath and says in a clear voice, “It would be wrong.”  
  
Angry shouts rise up at her words, but she knows this rage is directed at Snow and the games, not her.  She keeps the smile off her face and keeps her eyes trained on Caesar, watching wrinkles appear underneath his make-up.  
  
He clears his throat and nods his head.  “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”  
  
Thoughts of her prep team spring unbidden into her mind, how they tried to hold back their tears when they said goodbye.  
  
 _It has been an honor to know you…we will not forget you._   All of this accompanied by each of them holding her hands in theirs, bending over and pressing their lips to her hands, a subservient action Sophie has never seen before.  
  
She catches a glimpse of the other victors lined up in chairs on the stage to her right, and she remembers the years spent together, trying so hard to make the best of the fucked up lives they were forced into.  
  
The first words that spring to her lips are _this isn’t fair, please make it stop._  
  
But she can’t break, not now.  
  
Raising her chin, Sophie looks back out at the audience in their glittering clothes.  “I have been honored by the love and kindness shown to me during my years as a victor.  I will never forget it.  I do wish this could be stopped, but if President Snow with all his power cannot do anything, then I suppose we must accept this.”  
  
The buzzer sounds, then, and as Sophie rises from her chair to re-join the other victors, Caesar takes her hands in his and kisses them.  
  
“I know I speak for all the Capitol when I say it has been an honor to know you,” Caesar tells her with a soft smile.  
  
Unable to speak for fear of crying, Sophie just nods her head and makes her way back to her seat in line.  As Finnick passes her, he brushes his fingers against hers.  
  
The rest of the interviews are a blur, and all Sophie can really hear is the growing anger of the audience as each victor speaks, the people of the Capitol weeping and calling out for the games to be stopped.  
  
It only gets worse when Katniss’s dress burns away, revealing her as a mockingjay.  The image is unmistakable, a clear message to Snow:  the rebellion has started and they have fired the first shot.  There will be repercussions, but for once, Snow can see that his power is not absolute.  Even the people who are supposed to love him, love the twisted sick nature of the games, they are shouting him down, demanding that things be changed because this is _wrong._  
  
When Peeta announces that Katniss is pregnant, chaos erupts.  The audience members look ready to riot, and as the anthem starts playing over the noise, so loud that Sophie can feel the vibrations in her teeth, the row of victors stands.  Finnick grabs her hand, and Sophie laces her fingers through Hardison’s on her left.  
  
She can see the picture on the screens around them, the music drawing to a close, but then the lights on the stage go out, plunging all of them into confusion.  
  
Peacekeepers appear at the edges of the stage, and Sophie knows she doesn’t have much time.  She pushes her way past Finnick to Nate, catching at his hand.  
  
“Come tonight,” she says quickly as someone bumps into her from behind.  “When you can.”  
  
Finnick pulls her away to an elevator before Nate can answer, and when the elevator doors close, Finnick turns to look at her.  
  
“Did we do the right thing tonight?” he asks softly.  
  
Sophie gazes down at the seething crowd and presses her fingers to the glass.  “I think so.”

***************

She paces her room and worries at her bottom lip with her teeth.  Her prep team and Tara have been sent home, and she can only hope that Tara will manage to get back before Sophie leaves for the arena.  
  
She’s been waiting for Nate for the past two hours, and she’s starting to think that he might not be able to come see her.  The city is disturbingly quiet tonight.  All parties have been cancelled, so there’s no reason for anyone to be in the streets, no reason for fireworks or loud music.  
  
She misses the noise.  
  
“I was worried you might have fallen asleep.”  
  
Sophie turns around and sees Nate standing in the doorway.  “You know me better than that.”  
  
“True.”  He kicks the door closed and walks over to her, smiles as he tucks a curl behind her ear.  
  
Leaning into him, she pulls him into a kiss, wastes no time in slipping her fingers inside his shirt, flattening her palms against his back.  He presses his tongue into her mouth, and already, it’s too much, too fast.  She wants to be able to remember this, be able to recall the way he feels over her, inside her because nothing after tonight is guaranteed.  
  
The fear makes her cling tighter to him as his fingers find where her dress is fastened closed.  When he struggles with the fabric, his lips faltering against hers as he sighs in frustration, she shakes her head and laughs the tiniest bit.  
  
“I don’t care,” Sophie murmurs, looking up at him.  “I’m never wearing it again.”  
  
A muscle in his cheek tightens, but he pulls at the silk, pressing his mouth against her neck as the fabric tears and falls away from her body.  She digs her nails into his shoulder and when he bites down on her skin only to then swipes his tongue over the marks right after, a moan escapes past her lips.  
  
“Soph,” he says quietly, and he kisses her again and again, pulling her closer, her body molding to his, and she can feel his hardness pressing against her thigh.  
  
As she slips from his grasp and slides back onto the bed, he takes off his clothes, following after her.  He cups her breast in his hand, she arches up into him, moaning, and he moves over her, presses her down into the mattress.  She can’t help her sigh at the sensation of his skin against hers, his fingers tracing the bone of her hip, his mouth finding hers again.  
  
He tugs her bottom lip between his teeth as he pushes a finger inside her, and her hips jut forward into him.  Fluttering her fingers against the back of his neck, Sophie gasps into his mouth; he moves his finger in and out with a slow smooth rhythm, his lips finding her breast.  She reaches out blindly between them, grasps his cock in her hand, and twists, moving her fingers at a careful pace.  
  
His eyes snap up to stare at her, and she smirks in response.  Then he slides another finger inside her, curling them forward as he presses his thumb against her clit.  
  
“Nate.”  It’s a strangled cry that barely makes it out of her mouth because she’s _so close_ , and she doesn’t want it like this.  “Please.”  
  
He studies her for a moment then removes his fingers.  As he pushes inside her, she laces her fingers through his hair and gasps softly at the fit of him.  She still isn’t used to this, used to the way he groans _Sophie, sophie, sophie_ against her neck when he moves inside her, one hand grasping her hip almost tight enough to leave bruises while he slips the other between her legs, until she can’t think, can’t breathe.  
  
She comes with a flick of his fingers against her clit, and her fingers tighten reflexively in his curls, her vision going white around the edges.  She says something, but he covers her mouth with his own as he follows after her.  
  
After, he rolls to lie beside her, and she curls into him, rests her head on his shoulder.  The room is quiet, still as her breathing evens out, and she can feel sleep pulling at her.  
  
“Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” she whispers as he curls an arm around her waist.  
  
“I won’t.”  He presses a kiss to her forehead.  “I never will.”

***************

Sophie’s fingers cling to Nate’s shirt, and she buries her face in his neck as the elevator doors open.  He holds her close, the warmth of his hands burning through the thin cotton of her robe.  
  
“I’ll see you soon,” he murmurs even as he tightens his arms around her.  
  
She nods her head, ashamed for acting like a lovesick girl, and slowly, she steps back, her arms slipping from around his neck.  A faint smile passes across his face as he kisses her.  She fights the urge to throw herself back into his arms and breathes him in, fear clawing its way through her stomach.  
  
Nipping her bottom lip with his teeth, Nate moves away first and walks into the elevator.  She watches the doors close behind him and the glass box rises to the floor above.  
  
She wraps her arms around her body and goes back to her room, collapsing on the bed and waiting for the sun to rise.

***************

As she trails after Parker, a knife at the ready in her hand, Sophie wipes the sweat off her forehead and hopes they find some sort of stream soon in this jungle.  The saltwater from the small ocean around the Cornucopia has dried and left behind only the salt that makes her skin feel too tight for her body.  The jumpsuits they’re all wearing doesn’t absorb much moisture, so she really only manages to push the sweat out of her eyes and into her hair.  
  
“Maybe we should send Parker up into a tree.  She might be able to see if there’s any water from up there,” Sophie suggests as Hardison leans heavily against a tree.  
  
Eliot pauses at the front of the group and nods his head.  “It has been a couple of hours.  We should see how many are dead at the Cornucopia, too.  The cannon hasn’t sounded yet.”  
  
Parker is already halfway up the trunk of the nearest tree before he’s done talking, and as the blonde girl disappears into the leafy branches, Sophie turns to Hardison.  
  
“How are we doing with the force field?” she asks, wishing she could sit because the muggy heat has sapped the strength from her legs.  
  
“Still to our left,” Hardison replies, his shoulders sagging.  “If it keeps curving the same way, it looks like the arena might be pretty small.”  
  
“They don’t want the risk of us spreading out too much,” Nate says as he joins them.  He hands them each a fistful of small nuts.  “Here.  We should probably eat something.”  
  
“Are they salty?”  Sophie peels one open and looks at the pale meat inside.  
  
“No.  Sort of sweet,” Hardison mumbles around his mouthful.  
  
Shrugging, Sophie eats the nut and starts working her way methodically through the rest as Nate munches on his own.  Hardison finishes in a matter of seconds, so he starts searching for more while Eliot starts pulling up some tall grass growing around the trees.  He sits down and starts weaving it together.  
  
“What are you doing?” Hardison asks.  
  
“Seeing if we could make something out of this,” Eliot mumbles as he grabs some more blades of grass.  
  
Sophie watches as Eliot manages to make a small bowl, and once she’s done with her nuts, she takes a seat beside him and goes to work on making a larger bowl so she can set Hardison to gathering more nuts.   
  
“Do you think Parker’s found anything?” Hardison muses as Eliot sets aside his third bowl.  
  
Eliot shrugs.  “Don’t know.  Why don’t you climb up there and find out?”  
  
“The water is in the trees.”  
  
Sophie bolts to her feet and whirls around to find Parker standing there, a huge rat dangling by its tail from her hand.  
  
“You know that for sure?” Nate asks as he clambers to his feet and walks over to join the rest of the group.  
  
“I watched the rats,” Parker replies, swinging the rat in a wide arc.  “Then I killed this one.”  
  
“Stop it,” Eliot says, and he snatches the dead animal away from Parker, pulling out a knife to skin it.  
  
Sophie sighs.  “So how are we supposed to get the water out of the trees?”  
  
“Spile,” Eliot mutters.  
  
Only a few seconds pass before a parachute appears above them and floats down to the ground.  Parker grabs it up first and unties what looks like a long metal tube from the parachute.  She tosses it to Hardison.  
  
“How does it work?”  
  
Hardison rolls his eyes.  “I work with technology, not backwoods tools.”  
  
Nate holds his hand out as he says, “Give it here.”  He turns to Sophie.  “Do you have a small knife I could use to make a hole in the tree?”  
  
She fishes a slender blade out from under her belt and gives it to him as Hardison hands over the spile.  Nate digs the tip of the knife into the bark and works it slowly deeper, gouging out the wood until he has a hole large enough for the spile to fit.  
  
As he slides the spile into the tree, Sophie asks, “How exactly do you know how to do this?”  
  
“I pick things up here and there,” Nate replies absentmindedly, wiggling the spile around until a small amount of water starts to trickle into his hand.  “And now we have water.”  
  
They all drink their fill; the water is unpleasantly warm and tastes of metal, but it’s certainly better than the prospect of dying from dehydration.  As Eliot finishes cutting the rat’s meat into pieces, Parker grabs up a short stick, skewers a small cube, and tosses it at the force field.  It bounces back a second later, black and smoking.  
  
She holds the charred meat up and says, “Well, it’s a little overdone, but it’s fast.”  
  
While Hardison and Parker throw the meat into the force field, Sophie fills their grass bowls with water and pulls the spile out of the tree, handing it off to Nate.  The cannon booms in the distance, and they all stop as it goes off again and again.  
  
When it’s quiet again, Hardison looks around at all of them.  “I counted seven.”  
  
Sophie glances at Nate, sees his bowed head, and she knows he’s thinking of Cora who was killed by Brutus within moments of reaching the Cornucopia.  He still has some of her blood splattered across his jumpsuit.  
  
Eliot clenches his jaw and shakes his head.  “Eat fast.  We need to move on.”

***************

“Get up!”  
  
Sophie shoots upright from where she had been sleeping between Parker and Nate, and she looks around wildly, dimly registering that it’s morning before Eliot grabs her roughly and pulls her to her feet.  
  
“What’s going on?” Hardison mumbles, blinking as he stumbles to his feet.  
  
“Run,” Eliot says tersely as he pushes them all ahead of him.  
  
The ground trembles beneath Sophie’s feet, and her eyes widen as she pulls a long, wickedly sharp knife from her belt.  
  
“What is that?’ Parker asks as they all break into a run.  
  
“Don’t know,” Eliot huffs.  “Sounds big enough to eat all of us with one bite.”  
  
Sophie’s heart pounds in her chest as she races through the jungle, her feet sliding over wet leaves and undergrowth, nearly falling at one point.  The ground shakes even more, and then the thing chasing them bellows, the sound similar to nails scraped across metal.  
  
Her legs burn, a stitch forms in her side, and sweat starts to drip into her eyes, blinding her.  Eventually, they stumble onto the beach, and Hardison is the first to collapse, his chest heaving as he gasps for air, and then he rolls to his side and vomits.  
  
“Is it safe?” Nate chokes out.  
  
“I think so,” Eliot replies slowly.  
  
“I vote we stay here,” Parker says as she crouches down beside Hardison.  
  
“Seconded,” Hardison wheezes.  
  
“Or we could go see who those people are.”  Eliot points down the beach, and Sophie squints, barely able to make out three distinct shapes.  
  
“It might be a good idea,” Sophie agrees, already starting in that direction.  “I would like to be a little further away from here in case that thing decides to come back and finish us off.”  
  
Hardison groans as Parker helps him to his feet, and Nate takes Sophie’s hand as they walk, the sand shifting under their feet.

***************

Peeta draws a circle in the sand and divides it into twelve sections.  “So, the lightning happens at midnight.”  
  
He writes it into the small section at the top of the circle and continues filling in the other sections under Nate’s instruction as Sophie crouches in the shade of the Cornucopia, Johanna beside her.  
  
“So none of you have seen Gloss or Cashmere or the rest of that group?” Johanna asks, digging the edge of her ax into the sun-softened gold of the Cornucopia.  
  
“No,” Sophie replies as she picks up a whetstone and sharpens a knife.  “I’m surprised we haven’t seen any of them yet, but I think we will soon.”  
  
“Yeah, couldn’t just stay in their own little corner,” Johanna mutters.  
  
Sophie shakes her head.  “If we all stop trying to kill each other, the Gamemakers will just use the arena to kill us instead.  There has to be blood or it gets boring.”  
  
“I just want to bury an ax in Brutus’s head.”  Johanna pulls her ax free and holds it up, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sun.  
  
Humming under her breath, Sophie just raises an eyebrow at the sentiment.  A shout at that moment from Katniss pulls their attention to where Gloss is standing, an arrow in his head, Wiress dead at his feet.  
  
Sophie jumps to her feet and flings the knife in her hand at Cashmere.  The blade buries itself deep in Cashmere’s chest, Johanna’s ax nestled in the flesh beside it.  Sophie grabs two knives from her belt so she can start throwing them in rapid succession, but as she and Johanna round the Cornucopia, the ground beneath them jerks and flings them to the ground.  
  
Then the small island begins to spin, going faster and faster until Sophie feels herself slipping towards the water, and suddenly, it stops.  Trembling, Sophie lifts her head from the ground and chokes on the sand in her mouth; she spits out as much as she can as she forces her body to sit up.  
  
She looks around and sees everyone else doing the same except for the three dead whose bodies are now floating in the ocean.  Enobaria and Brutus have disappeared.  
  
As Sophie leans heavily against the Cornucopia, Finnick sighs.  “So, what do we do now?”  
  
“Well, the tail points to twelve o’clock,” Parker says.  “Right?”  
  
“Before they spun the island,” Eliot replies as he shakes his head and sends sand flying out of his hair.  
  
“So?  Can’t one of you people figure out what time it is from the sun?” Hardison asks.  
  
Nate shakes his head.  “Not necessarily.  The tail might be pointing to three o’clock for all we know.  The clock inside the arena doesn’t have to be dependent on real time.”  
  
“But if we can figure out where we are on the clock, then we’ll be able to be right back on track,” Sophie says slowly as she looks out over the ocean and sees the approaching hovercraft.  “Unless they could have moved the entire outer ring of the jungle as well?”  
  
“Naw, too much work.”  Hardison puts in.  “We’re confused enough now, and all they had to do was spin this island.  At best, it’ll only take us a few hours to figure out the different position of the clock.”  
  
“So it doesn’t matter where we go.”  Johanna groans and heads for one of the spokes of sand.  “I say we go this way and get some water to wash this damn dirt out of our mouths.”  
  
“What if you just picked the section that has the tidal wave?” Finnick asks as they all trudge after her.  
  
Johanna shrugs.  “We’ll all be dead then.”

***************

Sophie pulls off her shoes and settles onto the damp beach, gentle waves washing over her feet.  It smells like home, but the sky is strange, and there isn’t the freedom of the great expanse of the sea, the shrieks of gulls as they fly overhead.  
  
“Is there any reason you’re sitting here by yourself?” Nate asks as he sits down beside her.  
  
She glances at him then over her shoulder to where Finnick, Peeta, and Katniss are cleaning the meat out of oyster shells.  Parker has covered Hardison’s legs with sand, and Eliot and Johanna are sparring a few feet away from the two.  
  
“I was just thinking about home,” Sophie murmurs, looking back out to where the Cornucopia gleams in the dying sunlight.  
  
“Is the arena like District Four?”  
  
“In some ways.  We don’t have a jungle there, but we are right beside the ocean.”  
  
His fingers brush against her hand, and she flips her hand over so it’s palm up; he presses his palm against hers, laces their fingers together.  
  
“At least I get to sort of see what your home is like,” he says softly.  
  
She doesn’t look at him, not yet.  “Is it important to you?”  
  
“It means something to you.”  
  
Her eyes meet his, and he gives her a slight smile.  She leans in, kisses him, tasting the salt lingering on his lips.  
  
She rests her head on his shoulder and says quietly, “Hardison’s plan is going to work, isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s our best chance.”  He tightens his grip on her hand.  “We’ve almost made it.”  
  
A slight tendril of hope settles deep in her chest as the water washes over her feet and the sun bathes them in warmth.

***************

The jungle is silent at the moment.  Sophie stabs a small knife into a nearby tree and turns back to Hardison.  
  
“Are you sure this will work?” she asks again, watching Peeta pace back and forth.  
  
“Yes.  I just have to finish,” Hardison says as he pulls a coil of the wire over a branch, wrapping it a few times before securing the end to a knife he had borrowed from Sophie.  
  
Sophie looks back out into the trees around them.  Johanna and Katniss are carrying the spool of wire down the slope to the beach, laying a thin trail of the golden metal behind them.  Finnick, Eliot, Parker, and Nate are spread out in the trees in case Enobaria and Brutus show up.  
  
Peeta strides past, slapping his hands against his legs in agitation.  The wire stretched taut out behind them in the direction of the beach, in the direction of Johanna and Katniss, suddenly goes slack.  
  
“Is this part of the plan?” Peeta cries out.  
  
Hardison shakes his head.  “No.  That wasn’t.”  
  
Peeta lunges down the slope, and Sophie takes off after him when she hears Nate shouting to the west of her.  Pulling up short, she grabs a heavy stick from the ground and flings it at Peeta’s back.  The force of the flying stick sends Peeta to the ground.  Then Brutus appears out of the undergrowth on her left, and Sophie fumbles for a knife.  
  
Brutus knocks her over, grunting when she lashes out with a kick to his abdomen.  Rolling to the side, Sophie clambers to her feet and throws a knife at him, but he ducks out of the way, the blade only slicing across his shoulder.  
  
“Katniss!” Peeta yells as he scrambles to his feet and runs away.  
  
Sophie lets out a frustrated yell and dodges the spear Brutus flings at her.  “Give it up, Brutus!”  
  
He just growls and pulls out his sword.  Gripping a knife in each hand, Sophie pitches the first one from her left hand in Brutus’s direction.  When he slides out of its way, Sophie throws the second, and this one finds its way into Brutus’s neck, the hilt quivering as blood drips down onto his chest and Brutus falls to his knees, eyes wide.  
  
He opens his mouth to speak, but a gargle of speech is all that escapes along with a dark red bubble that pushes past his lips and finally bursts as the cannon booms to mark his death.  
  
Then the arena explodes, and Sophie only sees bright white light before the darkness sweeps her away.

***************

 _Things don’t always go according to plan._  
  
Sophie bites back the bitterness at the thought and glances out the windows of the hovercraft.  Parker is curled up nearby with Hardison, but they don’t talk to her or to each other.  
  
Eliot is dead.  Nate has been taken away by the Capitol.  
  
 _Things don’t always go according to plan._  
  
The second Haymitch said those words to her, Sophie nearly launched across the table to close her hands around his throat until his face went from red to blue to purple and finally the still white of death.  
  
Annie is also a prisoner of the Capitol; Finnick has been sleeping in a morphling-induced coma in the hovercraft’s medical bay.  
  
There are so many others somewhere in a Capitol prison:  Tara, Maggie, Imanuel, Mags, and Starke.  She knows more people are in the same situation, mentors from rebelling districts, stylists and prep teams, escorts, close friends, families.  
  
Some might be killed right away, as examples.  The Capitol does like to put on a good show.  
  
She still looks for Nate when she thinks of something amusing, when the nightmares pull her from sleep.  The lack of his presence, even through an unreliable phone line feels like some part of her has been amputated, the wound open and throbbing when she curls up in her bed alone.  
  
She wonders, briefly, if it would feel any different if he had died.  
  
It probably would.  
  
They’ve reached the edge of District Thirteen by now, and Sophie gazes at the land below.  It’s a wasteland of dead trees, blackened dirt, flat.  There is no ocean here.


	7. watch as it all fades away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Part Three: to fall apart**
> 
>  
> 
> _“It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”_  
>  \- Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
> 
>  
> 
> _“And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.”_  
>  \- Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
> 
>  
> 
> _“What change would have altered the course of events? In the big picture, nothing. In the small picture, so much.”_  
>  \- Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

** Chapter Seven:  watch as it all fades away **

_“Can’t make this all go away_

_Now that you’re bleeding, you stare at the ceiling,_

_And watch as it all fades away_

_From what you do, because of you.”_

**_\- “Because of You” by Nickelback_ **

****

“You look like shit.”  
  
Sophie doesn’t look up from her plate as she says, “You’re the one who is going through withdrawal, Haymitch.”  
  
“I _went_ through withdrawal.”  
  
“Right.”  Sophie looks up at him with a placid smile.  “What exactly do you want?”  
  
Haymitch sits down at the table across from her, his tray clattering against the wood.  “Maybe I just want to enjoy your company.”  
  
“You never talk to anyone without some ulterior motive.  You forget that I know you.”  
  
“Okay, look, I need a favor.”  He pushes his fork deep into his mound of turnips and frowns.  
  
“Another one?” she asks flatly as she picks up the small heel of her bread and starts to tear it into tiny pieces, the shreds falling indiscriminately on top of her meat stew.  
  
Sighing, he rubs a hand along his forehead and says, “Seriously, sweetheart, I have a migraine, and I don’t need to deal with this kind of shit from _you_.  I know that you’re angry, and, listen, I get it.  But _I’m_ not the only one who fucked that up, and you know it.”  
  
“Tell me what you want.”  
  
“It’s Katniss.  She wants to go back to District Twelve.  I don’t trust most of these people to keep a handle on her.”  
  
“And you think I’m just right for the job?”  Sophie raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.  “Haymitch, the girl doesn’t like me.  She thinks I’m a manipulative whore.”  
  
Haymitch snorts.  “She actually said that to you?”  
  
“No.  Gale keeps muttering similar things while we’re on the training field together, and those two are joined at the hip.”  
  
Taking a big bite of his stew, Haymitch chews it as Sophie watches, smiling in amusement when he chokes and pulls a bone out of his mouth.  He drops his fork and takes a long swallow of water.  
  
“Well, I don’t need her to be your biggest fan.  What I need is to know that there’s at least one person out there who will keep her safe.  I don’t trust anyone else to look out for her best interests,” he explains carefully.  
  
“What about Gale?  They’re best friends.”  
  
“He’s…angry.  In the heat of the moment, I don’t know exactly what he might do, and that makes him untrustworthy.”  
  
She sighs and taps her fork against her plate as she stares across the table at him.  The thing is, she’ll have more power over him if she refuses; but she’ll have less of a chance of getting what she really wants.  
  
“I’ll do it,” she tells him finally.   “On one condition.”  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Get Nate and all the others back.”  
  
“Done.”

***************

Sophie glances out the hovercraft window again and watches the ashes in the streets float on a meandering breeze.  Katniss has long since disappeared from sight.  However, Hardison equipped everyone on board with earbuds manufactured in Special Defense back in District Thirteen, so they’re still able to hear Katniss.  
  
As she observes the ruins of District Twelve through the hazy light, Sophie shudders and wraps her arms tight around her body.  She can’t imagine going back to her home to find it like this.  The thought makes bile crawl up her throat.  
  
“I think we should call her back now,” Boggs says quietly, looking to Gale who is sprawled in a seat across from Sophie.  
  
“Is there an incoming threat?” Gale asks.  
  
“No,” Boggs says slowly.  
  
“Then we should give her a little bit longer.  This is… _was_ her home.”  Gale balls his right hand into a fist and shakes his head.  
  
“Do you think this will help her?” Sophie says in a soft voice.  
  
Gale frowns.  “With what?  Putting her life back together?  Being the Mockingjay?”  
  
“Move on,” Sophie clarifies.  “Which might involve becoming the Mockingjay, but that’s her decision.”  
  
“She thinks all of this is her fault.  How the hell is she going to move on from that?”  
  
“I don’t know.  You’re her best friend, Gale.”  Sophie sighs.  “I assume you know more about what she needs to move past all of this than any of us.”  
  
“Because it’s so easy to _move on_.”  His mouth twists as he looks out the window.  “It’s not that easy for us, me and Katniss.  Not like it is for people like you.”  
  
Sophie presses her mouth into a thin line and leans forward.  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Gale.  Don’t assume you know me just because I am a victor and you saw me a few times on your television.”  
  
“We’ve got an incoming hovercraft,” Boggs announces from where he’s standing with the pilot.  “They’re a little over an hour out, but we should leave now before they know we’ve been here.”  
  
Gale presses the switch that changes the frequency of his earbud and says, “Katniss, we need to go.”  
  
A few minutes pass, during which Gale shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearly worried that Katniss is going to ignore him.  Boggs watches him with an impassive expression.  Sophie curls her legs underneath her and eventually closes her eyes until the ladder is lowered and pulls Katniss back up into the hovercraft.  
  
Katniss dumps a leather bag into the seat beside Sophie and collapses on Gale’s left, sweat gathered on her upper lip and her eyes slightly wider than normal.  Sophie peers at the worn bag and jumps back when it moves with a vicious hiss.  
  
“What’s in there?” Sophie asks.  
  
Katniss digs her earbud out of her ear and hands it off to Gale.  “My sister’s cat.  Buttercup.”  
  
“Do they even allow pets in District Thirteen?” Gale says as he pulls out his own earbud.  
  
“They’ll make an exception.”  Katniss shrugs and smiles slightly.  “People always make exceptions for Prim.”  
  
As the cat’s hisses escalate into howls, Sophie considers asking if she can at least hold the poor animal for the duration of the journey back to District Thirteen, but Katniss just kicks the bag and relaxes into her seat when the noises stop.  
  
Sophie decides that she won’t push her luck.

***************

“What was it like there?  Was there anything left?”  
  
Sophie turns her head, her cheek pressing against the cool grass, and looks at Parker.  “It was awful.  There were ashes everywhere, and I just…it was horrible.”  
  
Parker stares back at her and after a few seconds pass by without a response, Sophie focuses back on the hummingbirds flying around the enclosed glass dome.  Hardison and Beetee sit at a table right behind the two women, and she can catch pieces of their conversation.  
  
She and Parker aren’t technically supposed to be down here in Special Defense as much as they are, but no one in District Thirteen seems too eager to point that out.  Especially since Parker is still wearing a bracelet that marks her as “mentally disoriented.”  
  
Sophie cut hers off and tossed it into the trash the second she was allowed out of her hospital bed.  
  
Rolling onto her side, Sophie closes her eyes, curls her fingers into the grass, and listens to the gentle hum of noise around her.  It isn’t long before her muscles tighten in her legs and her heartbeat echoes loudly in her ears, so she pushes herself up and wraps her arms around her knees.  
  
“I don’t like it underground,” Parker says softly, her blonde hair lusterless under the stark lighting.  “I feel like I’m suffocating.”  
  
“They let you out for exercise above ground,” Sophie replies.  
  
Parker frowns and moves swiftly to her feet.  “That wasn’t what I meant.”  She rolls her sleeve up and rubs a finger against the schedule inked onto her skin.  “I’m still not free.”  
  
“We will be one day.”  Sophie digs her nails deep into the fabric of her grey clothing and watches one bright red hummingbird flutter close to the top of the dome.  
  
“Will we?”  
  
Parker whirls around and stalks out of the glass dome; Hardison follows after her, leaving Sophie and Beetee behind in the glass dome.  Pulling up her sleeve, Sophie stares down at the words written along the inside of her arm until her vision blurs.

***************

Sophie sits on a narrow hospital bed across from Finnick and watches as his fingers tie knots in his short piece of rope.  She has a similar string in her hands, but it’s hanging listlessly over her knee.  
  
After the evening’s previous events in Command, with the first Capitol broadcast of Peeta since their escape from the arena, Sophie feels the urge to start running instead of sitting here tying knots.  
  
“They’re calling Peeta a traitor in Command,” she finally says when the silence stretches on too long.  
  
Finnick doesn’t look up from his rope.  “He’s calling for a ceasefire.  Of course they think that.”  
  
“But he didn’t sign up for this.”  She sighs and twists her rope through her fingers, pulls it taut against her skin.  “We don’t know when his interview was recorded, what he was told by the Capitol.  How can we hold him accountable to standards he doesn’t even know exist?”  
  
“They’re coming at it from a different angle.  Peeta is really the one who got people to listen to him, not Katniss.  What happens if this interview harms the rebellion?”  
  
“Then we never had a chance to begin with.”  
  
“But everyone needs to hold someone accountable for when things go wrong.”  Finnick smiles, but his fingers tremble.  “You know how it’s been for us for years.  Why should it ever change?”  
  
“Because what’s the point in fighting the Capitol if we’re going to be the exact same?” Sophie asks quietly.  
  
“I don’t know.”  He runs his fingers through his hair and starts tying his knots again.  “But Peeta looked all right, didn’t he?  I mean, he didn’t look like they were torturing him.  So, maybe Annie’s okay?”  
  
“Finnick.”  
  
“No, don’t.  Don’t say it.”  
  
“It’s getting late.  You know they don’t like it when I’m here too long,” Sophie tells him.  
  
She slides her feet to the floor and stands, shoving her rope deep into her pocket.  When she reaches the door, she looks back to where Finnick is still crouched in his bed, fingers tugging and pulling the rope into intricate knots.  She fumbles her hand into her right pocket and curls her fingers tight around her length of rope as she leaves.

***************

Sophie trails her fingers over the cool underground walls as she winds her way to the hospital wing to see Finnick.  She’s taking a circuitous route because she has no desire to run into anyone at the moment, not after the arguments in Command over Peeta where Sophie was his sole defender and insinuated that District Thirteen should be punished for abandoning the other districts for seventy-five years if they insisted on holding Peeta accountable for words he was forced to say.  
  
Even though none of her privileges have been revoked, Sophie is in no hurry to put herself in the line of fire.  
  
Then Haymitch appears in front of her, and she stops in her tracks, eyeing him warily as she frowns.  
  
“You’re to report with me to the Airborne Division,” he says simply.  
  
Sighing, she asks, “Another trip to District Twelve?”  
  
“Nope, District Eight this time.”  
  
“We’re going to drop into the middle of a war zone?  With Katniss?  Whose genius idea was that?”  
  
“Well, sweetheart, if you weren’t too busy avoiding Command after your…spirited defense of Peeta, you would know that Katniss is useless on script.  If we want to get anything inspiring out of her, we have to let her do something.”  He turns and starts to walk away from her, taking the first left as she follows.  “You’ll finally be getting a chance to put your new skills to use.”  
  
“But, wait, if you’re going, why do I have to?” she says hesitantly, stopping.  
  
“You don’t actually think I’m part of the ground troops?” He snorts and grabs her arm.  “You’re smarter than that.  I’ll be supervising from the hovercraft, but you’re the back-up in case our little Mockingjay gets it into her head to do something reckless and stupid.”  
  
“And when exactly are you going to deliver on your half of the bargain?  I’m not going to continue to run around after Katniss indefinitely, Haymitch.”  
  
“I’m working on it.  Hopefully, a rescue can happen soon.  The tricky part is convincing Coin and her lackeys that the benefits outweigh the costs.”  
  
“Well, do it.  And soon.”  Sophie frowns and pulls free from his grasp.  “Don’t forget that I know all of the same tricks as you.”  
  
Pushing past him, she walks the rest of the way to the hovercraft storage area by herself.

***************

“How’s she doing?”  Haymitch asks through the earbud in Sophie’s ear.  
  
Sophie smiles slightly as she watches Katniss move through the makeshift hospital in District Eight, Gale by her side.  “She’s doing very well.  Is everything all right up there?”  
  
“Just peachy, sweetheart.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Sophie pulls at the strap over her shoulders attached to her gun.  She has specialized knives Hardison crafted for her, light and slender and deadly, but they’re more effective in close range.  But she does have a couple of the knives tucked into her belt in case she needs them.  
  
Not that she will be fighting any battles today.  If a conflict arises, they all have strict orders to get Katniss out of the area as quickly as possible.  
  
Sophie sincerely doubts that Katniss will go along with that plan, though.  
  
Paylor comes up beside Boggs and peers around him at Sophie.  “You’re a victor, too, aren’t you?  From District…Four?”  
  
“That’s correct,” Sophie replies.  “Do you need me to do anything?”  
  
“I guess no one really believed any victors would be interested in rebelling against the Capitol,” Paylor says with a shrug of her shoulders.  “I mean, everyone understood why Katniss would want to.”  
  
Sophie eyes Paylor carefully and presses her mouth into a thin line, finally saying, “I don’t think you do know the real reason Katniss chose to be the Mockingjay.  And all of the victors have good reason to be angry with the Capitol.”  
  
“Well, what?”  
  
Boggs clears his throat and gestures toward the hospital.  “Looks like Katniss is done.  We should probably see how she is.”  
  
Looking in the direction of the hospital, Sophie sees Katniss approaching the small group, her body shaking and her face white.  Gale keeps a firm grip on Katniss’ hand as the camera crew forms a small semi-circle around them.  
  
“Did you get what you needed?” Katniss asks quietly.  
  
“You did great,” Boggs says with a warm smile.  
  
Then Haymitch’s voice says sharply, “We’ve got approaching hovercraft.  You need to get Katniss back to us right now.  We’ll meet you at the airstrip.”  
  
Immediately, Boggs grabs Katniss as he says, “Incoming bombers.  We need to go to the airstrip.  Now.”  
  
Sophie sees a confused look pass over Katniss’ face, but she ignores it for now and falls in just behind Boggs and Katniss, Gale jogging beside her.  The skies are still clear, and Katniss drags her feet.  Then the sirens start, and Sophie can hear the panic starting in the hospital area, feels the fear hum through her veins as Boggs picks up the pace.  
  
Hover-planes appear in a V-formation, and bombs rain down.  The first explosions knock them all to the ground.  Sophie hits the wall of the warehouse they just passed, and before she can move, Gale flings himself on top of her and shields her from the next wave.  
  
“There’s a light blue warehouse three down from you.  It has an underground bunker where you can wait this out,” Plutarch says calmly in her earbud.  “Do you think you can make it there?”  
  
“We’ll do our best,” Boggs replies, keeping a firm grip on Katniss as he moves forward.  
  
“You have about forty-five seconds until the next wave,” Plutarch tells them.  
  
Sophie keeps close on Gale’s tail, and when they are just about to reach the warehouse, she catches the scream of fresh bombs falling through the air.  Someone shoves her, hard, and Sophie’s back hits the wall with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.  This time, Boggs is the one who braces himself between her and the explosions.  
  
“They don’t know Katniss is here, do they?” Sophie asks.  
  
“No.  They have to be targeting something else,” Boggs replies slowly.  
  
Then Gale jumps off the ground, shouting, “They’re targeting the hospital!”  
  
Sophie watches Katniss grab her earbud out of her ear and throw it to the ground, and then the Mockingjay runs to the brown warehouse across the street.  
  
“Go after her!” Haymitch bellows in Sophie’s ear.  
  
Gritting her teeth, Sophie takes off across the street right behind Boggs.  He starts up the access ladder, but then he grunts and falls heavily against the metal.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sophie calls up to him.  
  
Boggs turns to look down at her, his face a bloody mess.  “Broke my nose.  Get up there.”  
  
He’s close enough to the ground that he jumps down, and Sophie keeps climbing until she reaches the roof.  Katniss and Gale are already in a machine gun nest, kneeling with their bows strung.  
  
Sophie runs to the next nest and crouches behind one of the unmanned guns.  
  
“You know what you’re doing?” a man shouts at her.  
  
Smiling grimly, Sophie loads the gun with ammunition and angles it up to where the bombers will appear when they drop their sight shields.  
  
“A little bit,” she tosses back with a laugh.  
  
As the hovercrafts fly into view, Sophie tracks one in the middle, shooting a short burst of bullets at it.  She misses completely.  Swearing under her breath, she locks onto the next one and aims a little ahead of it.  This time, she scores several hits, one that severely damages a wing.  
  
It still manages to drop its bombs before swerving away, and as the formation disappears, another moves forward to take its place.  Now that she has an idea of the speed of the hovercraft, Sophie sends a barrage of bullets into the craft just behind the point one.  It crashes into the street below.  
  
Then a third wave comes in, and Sophie scrambles to re-load before they get too close.  Her fingers tremble as she grabs fresh bullets and loads them into the gun.  She positions her sightline so she can get one of the trailing hover-planes, and she manages to decimate one wing so that the hovercraft tilts and falls out of the air.  
  
“All right, that’s it!” Paylor shouts down the line of nests.  
  
Sophie releases her death-grip on the machine gun to clamber out of the nest, and she runs over to join Gale and Katniss.  
  
“Did they hit the hospital?” he asks as Paylor wipes some dirt off her face.  
  
Paylor frowns.  “Must have.”  
  
“We need to get out of here,” Sophie interrupts gently.  “Come on.  The rest of them are close by.”  
  
Katniss acknowledges Sophie with a nod of her head and runs to the ladder.  Sophie follows behind, and Haymitch starts with a litany of complaints now that it’s not too loud for him to be heard.  Or maybe he’s been talking in her ear this entire time and she just didn’t notice.  
  
“So, instead of doing your job and protecting Katniss, you climb right up there with her and start shooting hovercraft?  Are all of you insane?  Why the fuck didn’t you grab her and make her get out of there?”  
  
Sophie sighs and falls in with the group that is trailing Katniss to the smoldering ruins of the hospital.  “If you don’t like how I’m doing this job, why don’t you just do it yourself, Haymitch?  Then _you_ can be the one she shoots when you get in her way.”  
  
Then she takes the earbud out of her ear and draws even with Gale and Katniss.  
  
“Why would they do something like that?” Katniss asks quietly.  “They were all injured.  They couldn’t do anything.”  
  
“Because this is what the Capitol does.  It attacks where you’re weakest until you give in,” Sophie says in a soft voice.  “In the end, Snow would rather make Panem a burning crater than surrender power.”  
  
“How do you know so much about the Capitol?” Gale asks as he turns to look at Sophie, his eyes hard.  
  
Sophie just shakes her head and stares at the embers flickering in the ashes of the hospital.  “I know.”

***************

When Sophie walks into her room, she pauses in the doorway at the sight of Finnick huddled on the edge of her bed.  
  
“Finnick?” she asks softly, shutting the door and walking over to him.  
  
He looks up at her with eyes red and swollen from crying.  “What are they doing to them?  Just…they have Annie, and it’s my fault.”  
  
Sophie closes her eyes, tries not to think about Peeta’s shaking hands, wide fearful eyes, a body that trembled in pain with every movement, because each time she remembers, she sees Nate in Peeta’s place.  Whatever is happening in the Capitol to the surviving Victors taken from the arena, it will only get worse.  
  
“You saw Peeta’s interview,” Sophie says as she threads her fingers through his messy hair.  “You think they’re doing the same thing to Annie.”  
  
“But I don’t know what the fuck made him look like that!”  Finnick wrenches away from her and buries his face in his hands.  “I was supposed to take care of her.  But we’re here, and the Capitol has Annie, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”  
  
Sighing, she sits down beside him and wraps her left arm around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder.  “Annie isn’t defenseless, Finnick.  She’s stronger than you sometimes give her credit for.  You’re going to get her back.  I promise.”  
  
“It isn’t fair,” he whispers.  “It should have been me.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
She frowns and tightens her arm around him.  Finnick lifts his head and looks at her steadily.  He kisses her before she can move away, but it only takes a moment before Sophie is leaning into his lips, fingers digging reflexively into his hip.  His teeth bite down hard on her bottom lip until she can taste copper, feel the slick slide of blood on the tip of her tongue as she opens her mouth with a gasp.  
  
They’ve always used each other through the years, taking and giving equally.  It’s never been exactly right or fair, but it’s been the two of them for so long that she knows this is about forgetting, needing someone who knows and cares.  Besides, this is all they’ve known for so long that this is all she has left to give to him or to almost anyone.  
  
As she pulls his loose cotton shirt over his head, his fingers find the buttons of her muted grey blouse and unfasten them with a gentleness that is at odds with the way his tongue pushes into her mouth.  He flicks her plain black bra’s clasp open with ease that comes from years of practice and gropes her breast, tugging at her nipple until she gasps and rolls her hips up into his.  
  
Sophie pushes her pants down her thighs, underwear going with them, and loops her legs around Finnick’s waist as the fabric hits the floor.  He presses a hand against her center, slides two fingers through her growing dampness.  He gets his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free, and then he pushes into her with a grunt.  
  
She whines at the press of him inside her and feels him shudder underneath her fingertips; urging him on with a rock of her hips, Sophie lets her head fall back and her eyes close as he thrusts into her roughly.  His thumb rubs her clit, and he presses his face against her neck, murmuring words she can’t understand.  
  
It doesn’t take long, both of them already desperate and on edge, and she cries out when she comes, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as he jerks into her one last time.  She can feel the dampness of his tears against her skin.  
  
Eventually, he rolls to the side, and she sits up.  She watches him stare at the ceiling for a few moments until she can trust her legs to hold her weight.  
  
Standing, Sophie says softly, “Stay here tonight.”  
  
“Okay.”  He doesn’t look at her.  
  
She goes to her small bathroom and turns on the shower.  Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she steps gingerly under the steaming hot spray, and the water beats against her back as tears slide down her cheeks.


End file.
